Shell Shock
by hiddleshawcumberenneleckeit
Summary: Enjolras didn't feel human after the war. A widowed Cosette unexpectedly visits him, leaving him surprised. She's worried for the only friends she had left. He then remembered sad little Éponine, who disappeared after the news of the war. The three misfits needed each other, even if they didn't want each other. Modern AU (2011). E/É. -ON HIATUS-
1. Part One

******Title: Shell Shock  
Rating: M  
Primary Characters: Enjolras, Eponine, Cosette  
Secondary Characters: Les Amis, Musichetta  
Pairing: Enjolras/Eponine  
Summary: Enjolras didn't feel human after the war. A widowed Cosette unexpectedly visits him, leaving him surprised. She's worried for the only friends she had left. He then remembered sad little Éponine, who disappeared after the news of the war. The three misfits needed each other, even if they didn't want each other. Modern AU (2011).**

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One

The first thing Enjolras experienced was a headache. A massive headache leaving him in wincing pain. The second thing Enjolras experienced was too much light. He couldn't open his eyes in fear of going blind. The third thing Enjolras experienced was the sound of too much ruckus around him. If he could plug his ears, he would. The fourth thing Enjolras experienced was the realization of what had happened before he blanked out.

In a panicked moment of forgetting the pain consuming his body, he shot up and opened his eyes wide, only to yelp out in pain and press his hands over his eyes and against his forehead. Then, when more pain surged through his leg and his chest, he gripped at both areas in hopes that the pressure of his hands would make it all better, eliminate the pain. It only made it worse.

At the sound of a piercing cry, a Nurse had quickly rushed to the location of Enjolras' bed, situated in the corner of the room full of other soldiers. Enjolras tried to look up at her, but his fear was hidden in his barely open eyes and, therefore, the Nurse didn't realize she should have stopped her approach before. As she grew closer, the young man panicked and tried to push himself away from her, only causing his damaged body to fall to the ground and for the medical equipment attached to him to sound in a flurry. Tears pricked at Enjolras' eyes as he felt pain everywhere, felt the pressure of a thousand needles and a thousand hits covering his body. The Nurse gasped loudly at his sudden tumble and yelled for assistance in bringing him back to his cot.

Enjolras' eyes were tightly closed as tears forced their way past his lids. The Nurse knelt down beside him and gently set her experienced hand on his shoulder, causing him to flinch and cry in pain once more.

"Sir, please try to remain calm." The Nurse soothed as two more nurses came over. Enjolras' eyes opened for a split second, his pained look momentarily subsiding as anger flashed in his blue orbs.

"_Calm!?_ You want me to remain fuckin' _calm_!?" he yelled out before whimpering and lying heavily upon the ground, his eyes forced shut by the aching throughout him.

"Please, we need to help you." The Nurse's eyes were worried—a patient hadn't been this manic in a long time, "If you can remain calm, we can get you back in your bed and get you medicine."

"_And what will your medicine do_?" Enjolras hissed between his teeth as his brow crinkled.

"Please…" the Nurse merely muttered as the other two slowly helped support him—one at his shoulders, one at his middle, and one at his legs. As they lifted him as gently as possible onto his bed, Enjolras let out a string of screams, wanting to through every curse word he knew at them and then some. But the pain consuming him was too much for him to focus.

A Doctor approached rapidly with a drug in hand, looking at the crying man in worry, "What happened to him?"

The male Nurse looked up quickly, "He fell from his bed in panic."

The Doctor muttered under his breath as he and the Nurses got Enjolras reconnected to the equipment. He then prepared a needle with the anaesthetics, focusing to ignore the cries of the injured man lying in front of him.

"Sir, we'll help you, I promise." The Doctor said as a Nurse held Enjolras' arm for the doctor to inject him with the drugs. Enjolras struggled some, still crying and fighting the pain, but after a few minutes he slowly drifted off. The Doctor shared a look with the Nurses, "Someone get some heavy pain killers, this man will need it after what just happened."

Two

Enjolras awoke again hours later, his panic subdued because of the anaesthetic still traveling through him, slowly dimming down as he came to consciousness. His brain was thick with fog, his memory temporarily gone. He wanted to panic once more, but his body and mind felt heavy, too heavy to respond to anything. And this gave him time to think, gave him time to remember why he was here and what happened previously (but that was only after he spent a good minute or so actually trying to remember who he was). This made him calm some, made him remember what happened last time he panicked.

Enjolras tried to force his eyes open, but his lids were heavy, as was the rest of his body. He could feel everything, every part of him, he just couldn't move.

So, he laid there, the young soldier eager to get the answers to all his questions. And in this time spent lying in a hard cot, he recalled what got him here—the blast. The ambush and the explosion that blitzed his team. His friends. His _family_. And these thoughts forced him into sadness, regret, fear—where were the others? In his earlier moments of panic, he didn't have the time to scan the room for his peers.

Eventually, Enjolras could open his eyes, slowly, carefully. And he could only see an off-white ceiling. If it wasn't for the haze still present in his vision, he would have felt bombarded by the light, but at least now he could look around. He focused on moving his head, to glance around the crowded room—there had to be at least twelve or thirteen cots filling this long, open room. But he couldn't see the faces of any other soldiers around him. Enjolras saw casts, breaks, injuries, but no faces. He worried some, but a reassuring voice in the back of his head told him that out of all of the men around him, most had to be his companions. Who else could they be?

After a few minutes, Enjolras sat up slowly. His aches from earlier were far less noticeable, no longer dictating his actions, but his face still contorted in pain as he moved. Again, he tried to get a look at the other soldiers from this new angle. The man lying nearest him had his face exposed—Enjolras didn't recognize him. He tried to look beyond this man to the next, or towards the foot of his bed to glance at the man ahead of him, but their faces were also unfamiliar, even if it took him a few minutes to get a good enough look at each of them. He then began panicking again, eyes widening and breath thickening. Where were they? Where were the men he's grown with? Where were the men who supported him and followed him? As Enjolras looked around, the Nurse from earlier caught his eyes. When she saw that he was awake, she made her way to him, slower this time, more cautious in hopes that he wouldn't hurt himself again. Enjolras watched her carefully, no longer fearing her, but feeling overwhelmed by the need to question her.

"How are you feeling, sir?" she asked as she stood near the foot of the bed. Enjolras looked her up and down carefully before looking her in the eye.

"Where are my men?" he asked quickly, ignoring the woman's question. Her expression was unreadable as she stepped a bit closer to check the readings on the machine attached to him, "Where _are _they?"

She looked him in the eye contemplatively before casting her gaze downward, "Let me finish this check first." Enjolras glared as his fist hit the hard cot.

"_Please_, I need to know where they are!" he yelled out, causing her to step back in fear of an outburst similar to the earlier one. Enjolras sucked in a thick breath before looking away, "I apologise, I won't yell again." The Nurse went back to her work, taking a couple of minutes.

"Sergeant Enjolras…" she said simply while looking at him, "I'm going to get a doctor over here to check on you." Before he could speak, the woman was on her way out of the room and he sighed as he leaned back. _Sergeant_… God, he had nearly forgotten his recent promotion. But the reminder of his promotion reminded him of his friends, and his worry grew again. He _needed_ to know what happened to them.

As the Doctor approached, Enjolras stared at him carefully. Before the other man could speak, Enjolras opened his mouth, "What happened to my men?"

The Doctor had been warned by the nurse that this patient's mind was set only on his friends, and the Doctor prepared himself the best he could to answer, "Give me their names and I'll check." So, Enjolras listed them off—Corporal Combeferre; Private First Class Courfeyrac, Marius, Feuilly, and Bahorel; Privates Jehan, Bossuet, and Grantaire; and Private First Class Medical Officer Joly. The Doctor wrote each name, only recognizing Joly because the two had worked together briefly when Joly first joined. But none of the others stuck out to him. He gave Enjolras a reassuring look.

"I'll check for them once we're done here." The Doctor repeated the Nurse's actions, checking Enjolras' vitals and medical notes carefully, "You suffered some bad injuries in the attack—you're lucky. Your leg was broken in more than one location, a couple of ribs were broken, and large collection of shrapnel got lodged in your chest, but it was all stuff that we took care of." Enjolras looked at his body again, now knowing what each bandage and cast was for, before looking back at the Doctor, "It'll take you nearly two months to fully recover—after the first five weeks we can send you back to the States. This injury will definitely keep you out of duty for some time." Enjolras nodded simply, trying to recall exactly what caused these injuries—he knew he and his fire-team were unexpectedly attacked, but the details were missing.

After a few more minutes, the Doctor disappeared to get to work with the other patients. Enjolras slumped on the cot, letting out a large sigh. He just wanted to know where his friends were.

Three

When news reached Cosette, she was in shock. When reading the words, such simple, emotionless words_—"We regret to inform you that Private First Class Marius Pontmercy was killed in combat"_—she couldn't understand them. It took her minutes to finally read the sentence properly and allow the information to sink in. And once it finally did, she couldn't stop herself from falling to her knees and weeping harshly, not the typical, soft cries she's had in the past. The last time she cried like this—grossly, carelessly, painfully—was during the death of her Father. She's already lost so much; her Mother disappeared from her life too soon, her Papa died when Cosette thought her sadness was over.

And now Marius. Her other half, her safe haven, her home. _Gone_. She was a complete mess of emotions, emotions she couldn't control and wouldn't try to do so. It's not like it mattered anyway—after all, what could stop her now?

Cosette spent nearly an hour there, a small slump on the ground letting the news of her Husband's death sink in. Yet, even as she understood, even as she knew what she read was true. She couldn't accept it. It felt… surreal. She knew he was no longer with her, but she could never completely allow this truth to consume her. She only remember a few months ago, saying goodbye to him along with all the other boys as they left for service. Even in that instant, the thought of Marius dying never crossed her mind; she was sad to see him go, but these boys—no, these _men_—where smiling brightly, excited to be going out and serving their country. She couldn't allow her sadness to shine through as she saw the look on his face.

And now that will be her last memory of him. She occasionally got letters from him, whenever he got the chance to send one, but those weren't even the same. The letters weren't _him_. Now, Cosette could never have him again.

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**I hope everyone enjoyed this. Reviews would be really helpful so I can keep on track with this-I want to know what I'm doing right, what I'm doing wrong, anything that needs to be changed, etc. So, thank you all for reading!**


	2. Part Two

**Notes: Wow, I would just really like to thank everyone for reading, favouriting, following, and reviewing this story! It's gotten me really pumped to keep it going (and I'm notorious for leaving things unfinished, but let's try to ignore that because I'm determined to write). I hope you all enjoy this next part!**

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Four

_The doorbell rang loudly throughout the small house that was in desperate need of a renovation. People mingled, music played a bit too loudly, the grill sizzled. And after moments of no answer to the door, it opened and the new guest allowed themselves in._

_"Do you always just let yourself in?" Cosette questioned at hearing the door, a bright and dazzling and beautiful smile on her lips. She approached Éponine, who gave her a slight grin in return._

_"Of course; how else do you think I've gotten so many places I shouldn't be?" the shorter of the two hugged her guest in greeting._

_"That does seem to explain a lot." Cosette replied while grabbing her friend's arm delicately, "Now, come on, Courfeyrac has been making the best drinks all night."_

_Éponine rose a thin eyebrow, "What, Grantaire hasn't made anything? I thought he was a connoisseur." Cosette scoffed playfully._

_"He only drinks them, doesn't mean he knows how to mix them." The girls shared a brief laugh before the blonde began leading the way to the kitchen. Éponine followed closely behind, eyes taking in her friend's appearance—Cosette was always the pretty one. Not to say Éponine wasn't attractive, but Cosette—lovely Cosette—always had the resources to make herself look her best. And the confidence—her confidence is what made her a true beauty. After year upon year of being told you're worthless and are destined for nothing, year upon year of abuse and ridicule, your self-confidence dwindles down to barely a speak, something Éponine knew all too well._

_After both girls picked up some beverage, they made their way out to the back lawn, where the majority of the party-goers had accumulated. Combeferre stood at the grill, flipping steaks and chicken. As they passed, Éponine cheekily smacked his ass, sharing a grin with him as he chuckled._

_They were soon with Marius, who stood alongside Feuilly and Jehan. The newly-weds shared a quick kiss as their arms immediately wrapped around each other._

_"Looking positively radiant, as usual." Jehan greeted Éponine, who rolled her eyes._

_"Oh, please." She responded, masking her serious doubt with light joke._

_"You know I never lie, 'Ponine—after all, I'm not Courfeyrac, so you know I won't say things to get you in bed with me." The young woman laughed at the statement as conversation began to rise._

_In a chair seated just near the double doors connecting the yard to the house, Enjolras sat quietly, watching the interactions around him. He smiled ever so slightly as he observed the many people, taking in their excitement from his seat; when he wasn't trying to lead the group in an activity, he quite enjoyed just people watching. It gave him time to think, helped increase his mental productivity. It made everything feel so… simple. One could say his emotions—in these settings, where people weren't looking for him to tell them what to do—were almost controlled by others. The joy of the people around him brought him joy. Their excitement brought on his own. He was always just so much better at being subtle about it._

_And when Enjolras saw Marius today—saw the pure and radiant happiness shining off of him—all he could feel was happiness. Sure, he didn't understand why people put so much value on a romance, why everyone demanded they needed a lover, but he understood happiness. If it brightened your day, left you feeling as if you could fly, if negativity would never reach you, why would one meddle in eliminating it? Yes, Marius was a little too talkative, a little too oblivious, and—dare he say it?—a little too in love. But he was happy. Purely and fully content._

_Why mess with that?_

Five

Éponine smiled brightly as she stepped out of the cab in front of the small, grey-blue house; today would be the first time in a while she could finally have girl time with Cosette. Her job had been so overwhelming lately, that every time Cosette (or Musichetta, when she stayed in one place long enough for them to find her) invited her out, she had to decline. And finally, after having to say "no" every weekend for over a month, she could finally say "yes" and enjoy some time off.

She knocked quickly on the door and waited for a few long moments. When there was no answer, she rang the doorbell and waited longer. Her impatience got the best of her rather quickly, and Éponine let herself in. Of course, she didn't expect to find Cosette kneeling almost directly in front of her, causing the brunette to stumble back for a moment. With a worried look, Éponine rushed over.

"Cosette?" she said quickly and knelt down next to her friend. The blond was still sobbing, though they were now rather stifled sobs, as Éponine put an arm around her and pulled her close, "What happened?"

Cosette looked up into her friend's eyes for a moment, and that's when Éponine nearly gasped at how destroyed the girl looked. Something was _definitely_ wrong.

"Cosette…?" Éponine's voice grew quieter. From what the brunette heard from Marius, the last time Cosette was ever in true tears of utter loss and pain was when her Father died.

And then it hit Éponine. It hit her when she wished it didn't. Because she realized that the only thing to make Cosette become such a mess was… _death_.

That's when Éponine saw the letter in Cosette's hand, and her breath hitched for a moment at the sight of the insignia at the top. _No_. _No. No. No. No. No_. With a shaky hand, Éponine pulled the sheet of paper from her friend's weak grasp and unfolded it to look at its contents. And almost automatically she dropped the letter and held her breath for a few long moments, letting the news sink in. Marius was… _dead_? He was her longest friend, the boy she thought she once loved and he was… gone?

This wasn't right.

But Éponine didn't cry. No tears pricked at her eyes. She's dealt with so many hardships that she believes she's forgotten how to cry. And her body seemed to believe the same thing, because nothing happened. Her eyes didn't water, they didn't swell, they didn't grow red or puffy. She was frozen, her arm now loosely holding Cosette as she stared at the light coloured wall. Her vision was glazed over as she kept repeating the same sentence over and over again. _"…was killed in combat…"_

_"…was killed in combat…"_

_"Was._

_"Killed._

_"In._

_"Combat."_

But then, what about the others? The details of the letter were scarce. It said that Marius was killed in combat, said that an attack on his unit had occurred. But was his unit full of her other friends? This was something she wasn't sure of. But her fear for Marius now escalated beyond him. What about Combeferre? Courfeyrac? Grantaire? Éponine didn't know what to think anymore. So, she stayed there with Cosette, held her friend as tightly as her numb limb would allow, and listened to the sobs racking her friend's body.

What now?

Six

Éponine ended up staying the night with Cosette, just to help the poor girl out. The two didn't do much of anything—Cosette was in an eternal state of sadness, so Éponine helped get her in bed quite early in the night, hoping some sleep will help the girl (though, of course, she knew nothing could help after this news). But now, Éponine had to help herself. She may not cry, weep, become aggressive, or panic, but sadness still loomed inside of her. She was distracted by the knowledge of Marius' passing. This man she has known since she was thirteen—when he was still scrawny and awkward, but nevertheless accepting of her—this man she once felt would be her future… Gone…

At nearly midnight she had taken the opportunity to read the letter fully.

_"Mrs Pontmercy,_

_"We regret to inform you that your husband, Private First Class Marius Pontmercy, was killed in combat on August 15, 2011. Mr Pontmercy was with his fire-team when they were attacked by enemy forces, killing nearly every man in the unit._

_"Among his unit, Mr Pontmercy was known to always be bright and pleasant, always finding a reason to smile. His time with us may have been short, but it was a time full of success and he will surely be missed by many._

_"Mr Pontmercy's body will be brought back to the United States so to have a proper funeral with all his loved ones in attendance._

_"Very sincerely,_

_J.T. Beauregard  
General, U.S. Army"_

Éponine stared at the paper for a few long moments; she felt mocked by its content. This General Beauregard didn't know Marius. He didn't know the light that seemed to radiate from the young man. Didn't know of the constant blabbering about Cosette and their future. Beauregard's supposed "regret" was only an automatic statement. After knowing of so many deaths he helped cause, could this General regret anything anymore?

At least Marius could have a funeral.

But then again, would she really want to be there, seeing his stiff, cold body being closed in a box to forever be buried in the ground?

No, Éponine knew she couldn't bare the sight of that. But could she leave Cosette alone?

When the time came, then she'd decide.

After some time of thought, Éponine remembered her worry for the other boys she considered family—she still needed to know if they were all right. She began to think, trying to figure out a way to discover the fate of the others.

And then she remembered Musichetta. If something had happened to Joly or Bossuet, she would know—both had put her down as an important contact. So, Éponine grabbed her cell phone and dialled the number she quickly memorized when the two met.

But there was no answer.

After all, it was past one am; Musichetta was the type to sleep at regular hours, even if people doubted such. So, Éponine left a brief, abrupt message, hoping to get a call back as quickly as possible.

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**Like I said before, reviews are helpful so I know how well this story is going. I don't want to disappoint anyone, after all.**

**Thanks for reading.**


	3. Part Three

**Notes: So, on the last chapter I only got one review, and at first it worried me because I was like "omg no I've failed them" but then I was like "no reviews are everything, keep posting". **

**I forgot to specify this in the last chapter (though I assume you all could guess), but a vignette that is full italics is a memory/flashback. Sometimes it will be a dream, but I will let you know when it is (and you will see that in this chapter). **

**On a final note, I realized after doing some editing that E/É interaction comes in a little late for something that has them as a pairing. Of course, this story is defined by the ship in it, but I definitely feel its important. So, I'll try to get to having them interact as soon as possible, but we all have to be patient until then.**

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Seven

She didn't get a call back. After a full day, Musichetta never called Éponine. And thus, she expected the worst.

Éponine had left Cosette's at an early hour of the morning, not having slept at all that night, and made her way back to her crummy, small apartment. She left a message at work, saying a family emergency had come up and she might not be able to make it in for the next few days. Éponine spent hours just sitting around the apartment. You couldn't quite call it sulking, because she honestly became completely unresponsive at the news. So, she was like a body without a true mind, being pulled about the small, cluttered space by puppet strings. Not like she noticed, anyway.

She honestly didn't know what to do anymore.

Eight

_The room was poorly lit. Faces seemed almost as if they weren't there. The location was unspecifiable. And it was all completely quiet. There was no chatter of voices, no background music, not even the sound of breathing. The air was completely bare._

_Until someone suddenly stepped into the picture. He was small—4'3"? 4'4"? Maybe ten or eleven years old. His clothes were a mess. His long blond hair stood up in every direction. And his eyes—his eyes, the only striking detail of this madness that could be identified—gleamed with happiness and mischief._

_The emptiness was then filled by his laughter—a little too rough and a little too loud. But this roughness and loudness seemed to be a song, a song that could put a smile on every face._

_He was running. Running and constantly looking over his shoulder into the grey, his eyes in search of something. Something that made them gleam excitedly. And it suddenly found him._

_A well-built frame on a shorter than average male body. A dark, unruly mop of hair that always seemed to look just right. Deep, brown eyes. A grin that mimicked that of an excited puppy. And a laugh that was true, pure, starting in his chest and rumbling its way out of his large smiling mouth._

_The man had lifted the blond child and threw him over one strong shoulder. The boy—initially taken by surprise—looked shocked for a only a moment before laughing loudly along with the man. The brunette ran around the space (a space that seemed to slowly progress into darkness), cackling mockingly as the small boy playfully pounded his small fists against the broad shoulder, yelling out something that couldn't be heard._

_And just as this happiness appeared, it seemed to disappear. _

_The man's laughter stopped. _

_His expression fell and was overrun by one of emptiness. _

_The light in his eyes was gone, the grin on his lips disappeared. _

_And his arms fell, roughly dropping the boy on the black ground that had no beginning or end. As the boy winced in pain, the man fell backwards, as if he was forced or shoved. His face read pain, overwhelming pain. But when he opened his mouth to scream, nothing came out. Not a single sound._

_Then, suddenly red. _

_His body was drenched in red and the sadness and desperation in his features was soon coated by it. And it couldn't be stopped. The red flowed as if it was pumped from his body, in a stream that wouldn't end._

_The blackness moved in around him, slowly wrapping around his body and making him disappear._

_He was gone._

_And the child, face once so full of life, had lost everything. There was no happiness, yet no sadness. No joy, yet no anger. He became like all the other faces, slowly disappearing, slowly blending in, slowly losing its colour. But, in that lost moment, he looked up—_

Nine

—And Éponine gasped as her eyes shot open. She lay in bed, panting in her tired state while staring at the ceiling. She tried closing her eyes once more, but all she could see were _those_ eyes. And as she looked at the ceiling, it was still all she could see.

She cautiously sat up, eyes evaluating the mess of a room as she reached for her lamp. And as the light turned on, she blinked her eyes shut, only to force them to open again. She couldn't let herself see _those_ eyes again.

She drew her knees up to her chest slowly, and rest her chin upon them as her gaze caught sight of the picture on her nightstand, with _those_ eyes staring right back at her with that happiness she'd never see again if her worst fears were proven correct.

Ten

When Musichetta finally called Éponine back, she sounded like a mess.

Éponine's suspicions were confirmed.

Both Joly and Bossuet were gone. Lost just as Marius was.

Musichetta was known to be quite histrionic, reacting to things especially dramatic, but this time, she was completely in the right. The two men she loved with everything she had were now gone and she could do nothing to bring them back. Her letters were almost identical to Cosette's—the two would also have funerals.

Two more funerals Éponine couldn't bring herself to attend.

Musichetta went on and on to Éponine, crying and weeping and recalling all her fond memories of her men, and Éponine sat silently, never fully listening to the beauty on the other end.

But her ears immediately perked when Musichetta said the simply phrase _"I'm leaving town, visiting my family, and taking some time for myself."_ Éponine immediately questioned the girl, and Musichetta assured her that once the funerals happened, then she'd be gone, out of the city and back to the countryside she grew up in. She might be able to start anew if she left. Éponine was initially disappointed at the news, but it only took her a few moments to become unresponsive once more as she understood Musichetta's reasoning (even through all the tears and wails).

And once that conversation was over and done with, Éponine again became blank; dazed; thoughtless.

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**I hope everyone enjoyed this. A new chapter should be expected within the next few days.**


	4. Part Four

**Notes: I've been going through this story, doing the usual editing. I know that the chapters are on the short side, but I feel like if I publish too much at once I'll overwhelm myself and eventually updates will become few and far apart. So, I have to keep to the shorter. As of right now, I have the first eight chapters all written out and will continue to write since I have so many ideas.**

**I hope everyone enjoys!**

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Eleven

Enjolras immediately began yelling in panic, in rage, in sadness, in anger. He waited over a week to hear any news on his friends—he constantly pestered Nurses and Doctors, demanded information, but they constantly refused. And finally he was given the information he asked for.

They were dead.

Every last one of them.

_Dead_.

He kept denying it, saying they could be missing, lost out there only hoping for help. But a Lieutenant had come by to give Enjolras the news—when Enjolras was found, so were the others. Some were already dead, and others were in critical condition. Enjolras couldn't be sure why, but he demanded that he know exactly what happened to each of them. He knew this would only cause him pain, but he had to know. He needed to know how each of them went out. Not only for himself, but for them, too.

Jehan and Bossuet had received the most damage, being killed almost instantly as they were hit directly by a bomb sent on them. Feuilly and Bahorel were next. Then, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Joly. Grantaire and Marius had almost made it—they were found alive, but just barely so and died on the trip to the hospital. It left Enjolras all alone.

He was completely alone now.

Tears flowed freely from his eyes—Enjolras cared about nothing else anymore. His family was gone now, he had every right to become a mess, to lose any and all of his senses that he spent years learning to control. And as he was reminded of how each of his friends was killed, he could recall exactly what had occurred, he remembered all that he saw, all that he felt, all that completely destroyed him inside.

_Enjolras had nothing_. His sadness turned to anger, his anger became aggression. He was having a fit that put everyone into a frenzy to stop him. He ignored the pain coursing through his body, only consumed by the overwhelming conflict of emotions inside of him. He had knocked everything from the table by his side, _broke_ one of the machines attached to him, and he forced himself to stand before he fell to the ground. His full leg cast couldn't allow him to stand, and his still weak bones couldn't manage his weight. And when he crumpled upon the harsh, wooden floor once more his fit only continued—he kept yelling, crying, releasing his anger on whatever he could get his hands on.

But in a matter of minutes, he lost his energy, becoming weak to the point where tears took over entirely and he merely lied there in complete suffering, body racking with sobs. The Nurses and Doctors gave him a few minutes before any approached him. But even then, once one knelt beside him, Enjolras yelled out—though weakly—and forced them away with the last of his strength.

Eventually, he calmed enough to allow help to get him back onto the rough cot, but his tears never subsided.

They were gone.

Each and every one of his friends. Nothing else mattered anymore.

He was going to continue on alone.

Twelve

_The air felt thick as they all remained silent. The greatest sound was their panting, but even that seemed too loud. Their location was unclear—they had lost their way. But they were close to safety. _He knew_._

_"We have to be quick, but careful." Enjolras whispered as loudly as his dry mouth could manage, scaring a few of the men out of their daze, "We're still within enemy territory and we have to get out."_

_A nod of understanding was shared by the other eight soldiers._

_"Which way?" Joly asked as his eyes scanned the vast desert. Enjolras looked to Combeferre, the best at navigating._

_"Keep west?" the Sergeant asked carefully, receiving a nod._

_"Keep west." The other man confirmed. Enjolras motioned his head in the direction and slowly the men proceeded. They stayed hunched over, kept low enough down for an easy fall. Their weapons were at ready, prepared to fire at any given moment. Their movements were jerky, tense._

_They were on the move for nearly ten minutes in silence. The sound of aircrafts were heard distantly as the sun began to set. A feeling of relief began to course through Enjolras._

_And then it happened._

_His relief came too soon._

_There was suddenly a bomb. The should have been more prepared. And as it hit, as it blew them all off their feet, as it caused screams to erupt from a few throats, they all panicked._

_Enjolras collided with the ground roughly, sand coating his eyes as he desperately tried to brush it away. He sat up, causing a grunt to escape him as pain shot up his side. His friends were yelling._

_And another bomb hit._

_More screams. More shouting._

_More pain._

_Enjolras finally felt panicked. He could force his roughed eyes open, but he couldn't understand what he was seeing. There was undistinguishable shouts, a mess of screams, the blur of moving bodies._

_Then gun shots._

_Almost automatically he forced himself to his knees, wincing at the movement while feeling around for his gun._

_A shot to his ribs._

_He fell painfully back to the ground as he heard fighting around him._

_It had led to this._

_Their demise._

Thirteen

A letter arrived in the mail. It was unexpected, as the address on the outside was handwritten—Cosette almost never got envelopes with a handwritten address on the front. The handwriting was sloppy, yet still handsome in a heavy, rushed hand. It was handwriting Cosette knew all too well. She nearly broke down right there in front of her mailbox as she held it in her hand.

A letter from Marius.

She scurried inside, tripping over the pavement and her own feet as she did so, and once she was finally in the door, she was on the floor and ripping open the envelope.

The letter was sent August 6th.

Just a week before he died.

His very last letter.

Could she bring herself to read it? Could she torture herself further with the knowledge that she held an unread letter in her hand that was the last of Marius?

No.

No, she would never read it. How could she?

But she couldn't get rid of it. It was the last… anything she got from Marius. She'd never throw it out. But she'd never read it.

The arrival of the letter caused Cosette to weep for hours.

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**On a final note, I'd like to say that I've thought up first names for each of the Amis. I probably won't use them often, but you will see me use first names every once and a while. And I will always let you guys know who I'm talking, I don't want everyone to be confused. But if anyone ever does end up confused, feel free to message me and on one of the chapters I'll just put a list in my notes of each name.**


	5. Part Five

**Okay guys, I would just really love to say thanks to everyone who reads and reviews this! They always brighten my day just a little, even if it's just a simple "wow, this chapter was really good!" Reviews tell me I'm doing something right.**

**Also, I'm back in school now. This shouldn't be a problem, because I write _a lot _ahead (like, I'm almost done writing chapter ten kind of ahead), but if my updates start to slow down, its probably because I'm swamped with homework and the likes.**

**Like always, I'm open to criticism if you see it fit and I hope you enjoy this next chapter!**

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Fourteen

Every day Enjolras cried.

He told himself to stop, tried desperately to halt the tears, but it was impossible.

The marble statue had crumbled now that his moulding was gone.

Every day he sat in his cot, kept himself turned away from everyone else in the ward, and cried silently to himself. Enjolras couldn't get his friends out of his head, not one of them. He would never forget Combeferre's belief that things would always turn out better than they were before. Grantaire's drunken singing. Joly's shriek whenever someone presented him with something coated in germs. Each and every one of them haunted him, not only in his conscious but in his dreams. He couldn't escape the sadness and the pain.

Ever.

As weeks past, his body grew stronger, even if he wished he could just wallow away and join his friends in the afterlife. His ribs were nearly healed, and the stitches in his chest were slowly going from bright pink to a healthier whitened-olive. His leg was still restricted by the full cast, but he had time to wander the hospital in a wheelchair, even if he nearly refused to do so (the Nurses insisted he move around, even if only a little).

But every day was spent in sadness and loneliness. Enjolras didn't know what to do now. He had never felt so empty or confused or unsure. He… he just didn't know what he was doing now. Didn't know what he would do in the future. Did he even have a future? He couldn't return to service, he couldn't bring himself to return after what happened. But what else was there for him, a man damaged by war to the extent of almost being dead himself?

Enjolras couldn't see a future with him in it.

Maybe he should have died with the rest of them.

Fifteen

Their bodies had arrived. Cosette told Éponine so. Marius and Joly and Bossuet. Éponine didn't even want to ask if the others were dead too, because she was almost certain they were and she couldn't bear to imagine what that information would sound like out loud.

The girls never saw each other. Not after _that_ night. Éponine couldn't bring herself to look at Cosette's face or Musichetta's face—she couldn't bring herself to look at that sadness that would be constant in their eyes. Éponine stayed within her apartment most hours of the day. She eventually went back to work, but while there she was just going through the motions—wipe down the counter, serve drinks, manage the cash. Things she could do in her sleep. It was automatic. But when she wasn't at work, Éponine was home. Where else could she be? No other place could comfort her. Hell, her stupid, little apartment was full of stupid, little memories of those stupid, little men that had to go and get themselves killed for a stupid, little war.

But nothing about this was stupid. Nothing was little. And no matter how many times Éponine told herself it was all stupid and little, she still doubted herself, because she knew it wasn't.

Her friends were… she couldn't bring herself to think the word. Yet it was always looming there.

Dead.

Dead.

Dead.

That was all they were. That was all her life would be. That was… all.

Everything was just…

Dead.

Sixteen

Marius' funeral was small. Cosette. Musichetta. Marius' Grandfather. But no Éponine. Cosette could never be angry with her friend, but where was she? Éponine should have been there—she had known Marius the longest. Yet she was nowhere to be found. She made no appearance. And as Cosette watched them lower Marius' casket into the ground, she wished she had another hand to hold hers, not just Musichetta's, but Éponine's too.

But you couldn't have everything. Cosette knew that.

She was beginning to believe she couldn't have anything.

Seventeen

Éponine was restless.

She was easily getting more sleep every night than she's had in a while, but even then she always felt tired. Her body always ached, her head was always pounding. It was her mind that made her so weary. Because all she could think about, since she heard about the three funerals she should have been at but couldn't bring herself to attend, were the others. She had guessed their fate—yes—but she still wanted there to be hope. Hope was leaving her, yet she kept reaching for it. Éponine was just grasping at straws, she knew, but she didn't want to believe this was a lost cause.

So, she decided to put her mind at ease (or the next best thing). She investigated. She needed confirmation somehow.

She called Courfeyrac's parents.

Éponine had known the Courfeyrac family almost as long as she had known Marius—she would go as far to say that they were almost like the family she dreamed of. Courfeyrac's parents were quiet people, yet both had bold personalities that few got the chance to meet. They were a large family—five children, with Courfeyrac being the eldest—so the parents worked their hardest to remain sane (and every day they thanked god for their oldest son who had a talent with children). That's what Éponine enjoyed—they were such a tight knit family, yet never seemed to be overwhelmed by the constant presence of each other.

When Courfeyrac's Mother answered, Éponine could sense the tense despondency through the phone. She almost didn't want to bring up the topic. But she was already to the point where she couldn't avoid it. So, she got straight to the point. Probably not her best move.

"Have you gotten any news on Erik?" she asked a little too bluntly, because she immediately regrets it at hearing a slight choke of breath on the other end of the line. She fumbled some, trying to recover from her mistake, "I didn't mean to be so blunt, it's just that Cosette recently got news of Marius and another friend got—"

"Erik was lost at war." His Mother said, almost too quietly to pick up on. Éponine froze, not out of shock, not to let out a gasp. She merely froze. She realized there was no reason to continue rambling. What she wanted to know has been answer. But Éponine also realized she couldn't just hang up.

"…How is everyone?" she asked carefully, voice remaining levelled. She could tell Mrs Courfeyrac was stifling some sobs, and Éponine closed her eyes for a few long moments as she breathed heavily.

"We're still recovering." The Mother responded automatic—it was obvious that she had been asked this many times recently, "And what about you?"

Éponine was a little taken aback. She didn't expect anyone to take concern in her wellbeing during this time. She didn't lose a husband, a son, a lover, or even a relative—she expected others to not show as much care for her as they would for someone like Cosette or Mrs Courfeyrac. It took her a few long moments to actually consider how she was doing.

"I guess… plainly." Éponine was certain that wasn't the right word for what she was feeling, "I just… it's difficult for me; confusing." She tried further, but it still didn't feel quite right. The air was silent for a few long, difficult moments.

"Will you be at his… funeral?" Erik's mother choked back another sob. Éponine didn't want to say no, she truly didn't. But, like with the others, could she truly bring herself to attend?

"I'll try my hardest to be there."

Again, another long moment of silence.

"This probably isn't the greatest time…" Éponine started, "but do you have contact information for any of the other families? I would like to talk to each of them."

"Of course." Mrs Courfeyrac, after collecting her contact book, stiffly listed off the information she had. Éponine gave her an awkward and difficult goodbye before she went to work contacting the families she could get a hold of.

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**So, do y'all like the sound of Erik Courfeyrac? My sister and I sat down and took some time to pick everyone's names (which I mentioned last chapter), so we have two people who have agreed on names. And, oh gosh, getting Enjolras and Eponine to interact has been a slow process. I keep writing and I keep saying "oh my god, they haven't talked yet", but it has to take time. After all, this isn't a romance story, so there needs to be other bits to it.**

**If I keep going now, I'll just start rambling, so I'll leave you all with this. I hope you've enjoyed it and don't forget to review!**


	6. Part Six

**Look, my update came as scheduled and school didn't mess with it! This is good. I've also gotten time to write something like two or three chapters in school these last three days, so updates should continue being on schedule.**

**Also, I really like this chapter just so you guys know. I wouldn't say its for any particular reason, but I just really like it and I hope you guys too!**

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Eighteen

"You'll be fit to return home next week." A Doctor informed Enjolras. The young man had at first been a bit pleased, but he remembered that there wasn't anything back home for him. It wouldn't be home anymore. There wasn't any place that could leave Enjolras content, not in the slightest, "And you'll be able to stay with family or friends to help you get back to full recovery."

Enjolras stared up at the Doctor for a long moment—there wasn't anyone to care for him. He wished he could convey that through just a look. Since he's been here, these painful weeks spent confined to a bed or a chair, he wouldn't talk for days until a yelling fit took him over. Then, he was silent again. He didn't know what it was like to simple speak.

When the Doctor saw the look in Enjolras' eyes, he stopped curiously—there was something the soldier wanted to say. But he also knew the soldier didn't speak anymore. He knew it had to be difficult for the man, "Is there something you'd like to say?"

How could he say it? _"I don't have any family or friends. I don't have anyone to care for me. To help me."_ He just… he couldn't?

But he tried.

Enjolras opened his mouth, trying to figure the right words. Since when has he been speechless? Since when has he preferred being silent to being heard?

"I can't." he said simply, though he knew it wasn't enough. The Doctor looked at him in confusion.

"You can't what?"

"I…" he looked at his hands, "No friends. No family." He felt juvenile. Where did his talent for speech go?

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, "Your file says your parents live in New York. That's only a few hours from D.C. Why don't you spend some time with them?"

"_No!_" Enjolras yelled out suddenly. The Doctor would say he wasn't even surprised anymore—if anything, he was irritated with Enjolras yelling, "I can't stay with them. I refuse to."

"If you have a difficult relationship with them, now would be the time to fix it."

"I've already said no." Enjolras glared slightly at the other man, "They wouldn't help; they wouldn't feel sorry. They hate that I chose to go to war."

The Doctor began to sympathise some with his patient, but still persisted, "We've already sent them warning of your condition."

Enjolras' glare grew, "How did you get contact information for them? I never had it written in the files, never had it anywhere!"

"We dug around." The Doctor defended, "You had no contacts."

"And for good reason!"

"If you refuse to go to them for help," the Doctor's voice rose, but he quickly collected himself, "then even in D.C. you'll have to be in the hospital until your injuries are taken care of—you can't be alone in case something goes wrong."

Enjolras' expression was stubborn, glaring in frustration. Not another hospital. Not more off-white walls and Doctor's putting on false smiles. But they wouldn't allow him to be alone. He knew that. With a heavy sigh, he slumped against his pillow.

Nineteen

It took time. Getting a hold of each family was difficult. And even then, she couldn't get a hold of all of them. Éponine called the Courfeyracs, the Combeferres, the Prouvaires, the Bahorels, the Grantaires. But that left Enjolras' family. No one knew how to contact them. They didn't even know the names of his parents. Éponine doubted whether or not he had parents anymore.

But now she knew.

They were all dead.

So, why try to call his family if she knew she'd get the same response?

Éponine wasn't sure what she'd do with her time now. She'd finished the last goal she made for herself. So, now what? Attending their funerals was a negative. Going to Cosette—bad idea. Musichetta had left (not that Éponine would go to her anyway). She just went back to slumping around.

Her efforts at work became sloppy. She didn't mingle with the customers, didn't smile, didn't try to have a good time with everyone. If her facial expression even changed, it went from being straight faced to having a flash of utter despair in her eyes. Everyone could see the change—the regulars used to love conversing with her, but now she didn't even try. Her managers knew she was one of their best bartenders, but now she was losing her touch. They weren't sure if giving Éponine time off would be the best decision, but letting her mope around the bar wasn't in the best taste either.

So, they gave it time. They tried to see if she'd recover from this desolation.

And then one day, she didn't show up for work. No call, no message. Nothing. She just wasn't there. Now and then, an employee may miss work without contacting their manager, but Éponine never missed. She hardly ever requested time off. She had never just skipped out on work before. They worried, but then they thought _"maybe it slipped her mind. She seems so distracted. She'll be here again on Thursday."_

But she wasn't there Thursday either.

Twenty

_The bar was extra loud today, extra noisy. But it wasn't overwhelming. Éponine enjoyed the noise. It kept her moving, kept her excited. The reason it was so loud was obviously the group of eleven or so people sitting at the largest table in the place. It was a group she wished she could be a part of tonight._

_It was 2009. Enjolras' twenty-fourth birthday. He never liked doing much, never enjoyed much celebrating. But everyone else did. And any excuse to party was good enough for them. When they found out Éponine had to work, they were all upset, but then they decided to bring the party to her. When they showed up, the excitement on her face was evident—she could trust that they'd always want the whole group together for anything like this._

_So, every time she wasn't too busy behind the counter, she'd make her way to the group, smile, laugh, steal a bit of someone's drink, then disappear to get back to work. _

_And then she had an idea._

_She asked one of the cooks if he could make a cake. Or at least a cupcake. She knew Enjolras like chocolate—she accidentally discovered this one Valentine's Day when she was hanging out with Combeferre at the place he shared with his loud friend (Enjolras came in fuming over something or another and, in a joking manner, she offered him some chocolate. He might or might not have eaten most of the box). So, when the cook gladly accepted, she asked him to work as quick as he could._

_The cake wasn't much. It was in a tiny pan not intended for cakes, and the icing was cheap, but Éponine was satisfied. And when she discovered they had no candles that would fit on top of it without destroying it, she got a sparkler (don't ask why the bar even had those—Éponine believed it was because her boss enjoyed celebrations). _

_She called Combeferre over and had him play a song on the jukebox that he knew Enjolras particularly like—Revolution by the Beatles, which would surprise no one—and once it started, she lit the small sparkler and walked over, smiling brightly and surprising not only Enjolras but all her other friends._

_He actually hid his head in his hands. Éponine was proud of that response. It may have been the drinks he had that made him a little more vulnerable, but he seemed happy, even behind his weak glare through his fingers. The group laughed loudly at him, cheered and tried to sing "Happy Birthday" (which ended quickly, as the beat of the other song threw them off); Éponine eventually set the little cake in front of him._

_"I would tell you to blow out the candle, but I don't think that'll work with this." Éponine said with a laugh. Enjolras looked up at him, the corner of his mouth turning up as he nodded in thanks. So, he pulled the sparkler from the cake and handed it to a hand grabbing for it like a five year old (probably Courfeyrac, though no one was entirely sure). Enjolras didn't say anything, but the look he shared with Éponine was enough to make her feel accomplished._

_She helped in making his night. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but his twenty-fourth birthday was definitely one of his favourites._

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**I hope you all enjoyed that chapter. As usual, thanks for reading and I hope to get a few good reviews. Expect an update on Friday!**


	7. Part Seven

**Well guys, here it is, the next chapter! I think it might be my shortest one yet, but yolo. No, wait, please ignore that, no yolo. **

**Also, I'd just like to say that if anyone thinks something isn't be portrayed realistically or anything like that, message or review or something because I'd like to improve this. I've always try to draw from my real life experiences to help write things (e.g. what it feels like waking up from anesthetics, what different stages of depression feel like, etc.), but I'm no expert.**

**Anyway, enjoy!**

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Twenty-One

Cosette had been traveling for a couple weeks, just trying to escape. She packed a bag, left her home as it was, and disappeared. She really didn't think this through, though. She just drove, for hours upon hours, going from place to place, and stopped many times on the side of the road till her tears subsided enough for her to drive again.

But she felt unfulfilled. She thought leaving Washington D.C. would help her calm down and feel human again, but it did nothing of the sort. Every day she remembered Marius. Every day she remembered all the two had shared together. Every day she remembered the times they spent with the others. Leaving didn't help, it only made her crave the past even more.

Maybe leaving wasn't the best idea.

Twenty-Two

Enjolras would hate hospitals after this. From one degrading hospital to the next. Sure, he was back in the States now, but was anything really better? Would it help at all?

The singular thing he was grateful for was that his Parents never showed up. He knew they got the letter the Army sent, but they didn't pursue anything. Things were as they usually were—he was on his own. He didn't need them anyway.

But something at the back of his mind still itched—they didn't do… anything? Sure, they haven't had a solid relationship in years, yet even then he almost expected they'd react to this somehow. No. He should have known better.

Twenty-Three

Once he was finally released from the hospital—that Hell hole—he went directly back to his apartment. It smelled unlived in for all those months he was gone, looked emptier than he last remembered, and lacked all the essential things he needed. But it was… home?

Not exactly.

Not at all.

It was growing cold—it was now mid-October—and since he had been out of the country for so long, he didn't need to keep his apartment cooled or heated. So, he didn't pay ahead for it and he let the apartment manager know. Of course, he didn't expect to be back so soon. He'd need to talk to them. If he could even get himself out of here again.

Enjolras robotically moved around the room, limping slightly since his leg was still gaining back its strength. He looked at how impersonal the space was—had he always been so plan? He didn't have special photos or items around his home; he kept those all in boxes or albums. He had a few artsy black-and-white photos hanging on the walls—all taken by his favourite photographers John Prouvaire and Erik Courfeyrac—but the sight of them upset him. The guitar in the corner wasn't his, but that of his favourite musician Devon Combeferre, who spent one too many nights here before they left.

A sadness fuelled with anger consumed him in the moment as he look at the things that shouldn't stir memories, yet enthused up too many. He let out a frustrated yell as he shoved a frame from the wall, allowing it to smash to the ground. With realisation, he looked down at it, eyes only a little wide. He shouldn't have done that. He should clean it up. But instead he stepped around it to collapse on the couch. With a heavy sigh he racked his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes to try and calm himself.

Enjolras finally forced himself to move again because he was utterly starved. He hasn't been eating properly in weeks, but every once and a while the pain of hunger would catch up with him. And then he remembered he was back in his apartment and he had no food here (on top of not having heat). So, he forced himself up slowly and took several minutes to collect a coat and his wallet; his disdain for the idea of leaving kept him here longer than he needed to be.

And now he realized, once he stepped out of the apartment building's door, that he needed to relearn the Metro System. Which train did he take to get to his usual market? Where could he get on closest to the apartment?

Enjolras sighed heavily, ran a hand through his hair, and began a slow walk in one direction, hoping he'd stumble upon an entrance into the Metro. All the while, he tried to recall the routes he once knew so well.

Twenty-Four

Cosette was frozen in shock. She had just gotten back to the city, just made a quick stop at the supermarket, and suddenly she was hit by a wave of emotions.

The cause?

A face that seemed eerily familiar.

The moments seemed to draw out as she stared down the aisle, stared at a man with slouched shoulders and a noticeable limp taking things off the shelf to look at them, but never actually focusing on what he was looking at. He looked to be in a constant daze, dropping random items carelessly into the basket he carried. Cosette couldn't get a good look at his face, but she could see the way his brow wrinkled in sadness, could see the frown that seemed to take permanent residence on his face.

Yet, he reminded her of someone completely different than the man twenty or so feet away from her. He reminded her of a man with fire constantly fuelling him, a man that always had a glint of optimism in his eyes, a man that always imagined a better tomorrow.

And as he turned to continue walking, his eyes passed over Cosette, causing her to inhale loudly. But he never saw her, not really. She was just another blur. But for that split second she could look at him straight on, she was struck with cognizance. He… she knew that face. It may have been expressing severely different emotions, and it may have lost its light, but _she knew it_.

But it couldn't be.

She was almost certain _they_ were all… gone.

It couldn't be. Yet it was clear as day.

Cosette took a few moments to collect herself. Should she investigate? Chase after him? Follow him?

No. Tomorrow.

If it really was who she thought it was, she'd know where to find him.

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**Like always, reviews are great and I thank all you guys for reading!**


	8. Part Eight

**Since its the weekend, I decided I didn't want to wait till the end of the day to update, so you get one now (its morning where I am, so...).**

**I've constantly been writing for this story. To the point where, in Microsoft Word, I have 25,846 words and counting, since I'm going to keep writing after I post this chapter. Obviously, if you look at the word count for the story on here thus far, it is quite a high number. And all the chapters yet to come, I think, are really great and I know you guys will love it (or I hope you will, idk).**

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Twenty-Five

Enjolras noticed the smell before he saw the cause of it. This was one of the few things he distinctly remembered about his apartment building—the college students down the hall that always seemed to be smoking weed. He wouldn't say it bothered him, but it was a constant scent, something he used to encounter nearly every day; it was tiring having to deal with ignoring the smell and smoke.

But he still ignored it, nonetheless. Walked to his apartment, listening to the slight giggles coming from the room at the end of the hall filled with students that were high. It shouldn't matter to him anyway. And it doesn't.

As soon as he had closed the door behind him, Enjolras dropped his shopping (which consisted of way more than he intended to purchase) on the counter and began digging through it for food. He found a bag of potato chips and the pack of beer he purchased and pulled the items out, sluggishly walking to the couch with them in hand. He dropped down heavily on the old, tattered material and immediately opened the bag, tossing a large handful carelessly into his mouth. He continued this for a few minutes before he grabbed a can of beer and opened it with a click. But as soon as Enjolras took a sip, he nearly spit it back on. It wasn't the taste that caused this action, but rather the scent, triggering unwanted memories. A scent of spice and roast, sharp and stone.

He immediately thought of Grantaire. That man, always drinking and, when he wasn't drinking, discussing alcohol. Sure, there was more to Grantaire that his drinking problems, but he himself held them as an important characteristic of who he was—it was how people remembered him.

And that's just what Enjolras was doing now.

Quickly, with a grimace on his face, he set it on the coffee table and stared at it in pain. He didn't want this. He couldn't deal with this. People said alcohol made it better, made you forget. No. It made things worse, made things hurt, made him remember.

Enjolras tried again. He lifted the drink slowly and brought it to his lips, but he caught another whiff, and slammed it down roughly. He couldn't do it.

"_Fuck!_" He yelled out angrily as he held his head in his hands. Forgetting wasn't an option anymore.

Twenty-Six

_Enjolras blinked sleep out of his eyes slowly, lifting his hand to shield out the little light in the room. It had been a _long _night—he and the guys were out drinking. In a few days, they would be shipped out; they had to spend their last couple of days having a bit of fun. _

_Initially, Enjolras and a few of the others objected to getting wasted, but with people like Grantaire, Courfeyrac, and Bahorel around, it was difficult to argue, especially when they were already dragging you into a bar and forcing a drink into your hand._

_All too quickly, all the men were getting shit-faced, drinking the night away and having a good time. As per usual, a few of them joined together to sing loudly and off-key, stating they were "the best a Capella group D.C. had ever seen." _

_And when they left the bar to then go to a club to meet up with Musichetta (and Éponine, who appeared to have been brought along against her objections), many decided dancing was another perfect plan. Anywhere you looked in the club, you'd spot at least one of these soldiers either drinking, or flirting, or dancing, or singing. _

_Now, back at someone's apartment (honestly, Enjolras forgot whose, though he didn't particularly care), he could hear the snores, grunts, and mutters of his friends around him. Enjolras groaned loudly as he very slowly sat up, holding his head carefully as he looked around through squinted eyes. That's also when he felt the extra weight on top of his middle. When he looked down, he spotted an arm laid across his crotch, and his eyes immediately widened as he forced himself away from the other person, only causing his to groan loudly in pain and clutch his head more._

_"Damn it, Grantaire." He hissed while looking at the man that had been sleeping on the floor next to him. He honestly shouldn't have been surprised, since most of them were scattered across the floor of the tiny apartment (which he quickly recalled to be the one Courfeyrac shared with Jehan), but Grantaire seemed to have this thing about sleeping close to someone. All the guys had experienced or encountered it at one time or another since they time they'd known him._

_Eventually Enjolras stood and shuffled carefully toward the kitchen and the medicine drawer. With his eyes still in slits, he began digging through the drawer, hoping to find a bottle of Tylenol easily. After a couple minutes of holding bottles close to his face so he could read them, Enjolras eventually found what he was looking for. He then ended up struggling with actually opening the damned bottle._

_"Need some help there?" A voice scared him out of his work, causing the bottle to drop from his hands and for him to glare as he held his head again. Éponine gave him a sheepish look (though she doubted he noticed it) as she bent down to pick it up, "I'd apologise, but…" she trailed off as she popped off the lid and poured a couple of pills into the man's large hand._

_"What, you're not suffering?" Enjolras asked quietly as he swallowed them dry._

_Éponine grin slightly, "I didn't get myself wasted like most of you." She responded as she rose to sit on the counter next to him, "You're a tough guy, this'll subside quickly enough." Enjolras gave her a doubtful look as he continued to hold his head, "Want some water?"_

_"Please." So, she reached behind her into the cabinet then reached toward the sink with a large glass in hand, quickly filling it to the top before handing it to Enjolras, "Are you the only one that isn't suffering from a splitting hangover?"_

_She gave him a shrug, "Hell if I know—Grantaire won't have one, because he's basically always a little drunk, and Bahorel knows how to hold himself together quite well. Maybe Jehan won't be, but we can never be too sure."_

_The pair stayed there together in silence for a few long minutes. The medicine Enjolras took was fast relief, so he began to feel his headache go down, but it was a minimal change that still wouldn't take full effect until hours from now._

_"If you weren't suffering right now, I'd ask if you'd like to help me ruin these guys' morning." Éponine smirked toward Enjolras as he tried to return the expression._

_"It would've been fun." He responded._

_"Another time then," Éponine replied, "once you all come back next year from where ever the hell you're going. The guys will want to celebrate, so you and I just have to remember not to have a lot of drinks."_

_"Deal." Enjolras said, sticking out his hand for a brief shake with the young woman._

Twenty-Seven

Enjolras wanted to give up. He couldn't escape the memories and the pain. He couldn't think of a way to do so.

Until he heard that obnoxious giggling from down the hall. At first, he thought nothing of it, but then he looked up, stared at the door for a few long moments. He had never smoked marijuana before. Sure, he's smoked a good number of cigarettes, but from what he knew their effect wasn't like the one marijuana had on the individual.

So, before he could rethink the decision, Enjolras stood and walked out the door. He made his way down the hall and knocked quickly on the door, waiting as the laughter subsided for a few moments. Then the door was open and a small red-head opened the door. She looked up at Enjolras with blood-shot eyes and a bit of a toothy grin.

"You need something?" She questioned before giggling for a moment.

"You got any more of that stuff?" Enjolras asked quickly before he could stop himself. The girl raised an eyebrow as she looked over his appearance—he looked unkempt and a little haphazard. She didn't know him, so it was obvious that she'd be a little suspicious.

"If you can pay for it." She replied. Someone called from inside the apartment, but the girl ignored the voice. Enjolras let out a very brief sigh.

"I've got money and beer." He said simply, "I'll go get it now." The red-head nodded in response as Enjolras moved back to his room. A minute later he returned with his wallet and the beer he had wasted his money on.

"One sec." The girl disappeared back into the apartment then returned with a small bag of weed and some paper to wrap it with. Enjolras handed over what the girl asked for as he got what he wanted. She was about to close the door, but Enjolras put up his hand.

"Wait." He was almost certain he saw her role her eyes, "Who do you get this from?"

"Look, come back later, we'll get you the info then." She said before closing the door in his face.

* * *

**So, a new chapter should be posted on Tuesday. Obviously, things are beginning to pick up a little bit and its gonna start to be more exciting. Trust me.**


	9. Part Nine

**Hey everyone! So, here's the next part! Good things are on their way I swear, or... maybe not good, but things are happening, I swear! **

**As usual, updates should be regular (this one came a little later because I had something to take care of today) and nothing should interfere.**

**I hope you all enjoy!**

* * *

Twenty-Eight

_"So, how do you think the guys are doing?" Éponine asked as she set down the last of the dirty plates into the sink. She then turned around to sit back in the chair at the table._

_"In Marius' letters he's said they're not facing much action—they're probably fine." Cosette replied as she picked up her wine glass and took a quick sip out of its contents._

_"That's good, we wouldn't want them getting hurt." Musichetta said with a small smile on her face, "Though, I do worry that even if they're just spending time at camp Thomas is panicking at the thought of all the germs he's exposed to." The three women shared a laugh. Musichetta was the only one allowed to call Joly and Bossuet by their first names—they were her Thomas and her Chandler (and when everyone discovered his name was Chandler, they all found it strangely fitting for the man known for his bad luck)._

_"The poor guy." Cosette muttered, "Knowing him he's probably brought more sanitary products than most of those men had ever seen."_

_"I don't doubt it." Musichetta took a sip of her wine as she leaned back in her chair, "So, Ép, haven't gotten to see you lately between our packed schedules—how've you been?"_

_Éponine nodded slightly, "Fine. I've kept myself busy with work. And just last week I got to go visit Gav."_

_The other two women smiled brightly, "How is the little guy? I thought there were some complications with his foster parents."_

_"He's not so little anymore—he's taller than I am and a junior in high school!" Éponine threw her arms up as she laughed, "I feel like I've missed a lot of his life since I wasn't allowed to visit him for all those years."_

_"Have all the girls been falling for him?" Musichetta asked with a cheeky grin, "I always said he'd grow up to be good looking." Éponine rolled her eyes while pulling out her phone. She quickly opened a recent picture of her not-so-little brother and handed the phone to her friend, "I was right! He's a really cutie now."_

_"Muse, that's my baby brother—he's not even legal yet!" Éponine laughed as Musichetta continued to look at the picture._

_"Oh, calm down; I bet he's got himself a girlfriend anyway."_

_"If he has, he hasn't told me. Not that I can see him with one, anyway—he seems more like the type to avoid girls."_

_"Too many germs?" Cosette asked, a slight laugh escaping her._

_"Maybe he and Thom will become friends." Musichetta added. There was silence within the group for a couple of moments, "And what about you, Éponine?"_

_Éponine raised her eyebrow, "What about me?"_

_"You got a boyfriend?" Éponine gave a small smile._

_"With the schedule I have? I don't think so."_

_"You've been getting more free days." Cosette added, "Why don't you go out?"_

_Éponine shrugged, "I don't really see the point—relationships haven't been good to me, so I haven't given them much thought. I don't need one."_

_"But they are fun." Musichetta chimed in, "Even if you don't want a relationship, just mess around with some guys." Éponine laughed._

_"I feel like every time I even try just to spend a night with a guy and disappear, I always seem to attract the clingy ones that expect a relationship." Éponine sighed heavily and held her head in her hand._

_"Why not one of the guys?" Musichetta asked without a thought. Then she quickly evaluated it, "Scratch that, that wouldn't be good."_

_The trio shared another laugh, "Definitely wouldn't be good."_

Twenty-Nine

Cosette stood frozen in front of the brown door, staring at it in thought. She shouldn't be here. She was probably wrong about that guy from yesterday anyway. But she couldn't shake that feeling. The thought that she had to investigate. She needed the answer.

Finally, she lifted her fist and knocked gently on the door. After a minute, she tried again. Why was she even trying again? But now Cosette could hear movement from inside. She heard stumbling and shuffling until finally the door was answered.

Cosette sucked in a large breath. It was true. Enjolras was still alive. Immediately tears pricked at her eyes.

Enjolras looked down at the blond in confusion, "Cosette…?" he muttered. He had honestly forgotten about her. Since the loss of his friends he's forgotten much of everything. But the sight of Cosette reminded him that there were other people, not just those men. But those other people still weren't his men.

Before she could stop herself, Cosette threw her arms around the man, taking him by utter surprise. Enjolras' eyes widened as he raised his arms back, away from the woman holding him too tightly for his comfort. She was crying, he could tell. She couldn't help it—this suddenly came to her, the knowledge that one of the men escaped death.

"Oh my god, Enjolras…" she said quietly into his shoulder. He still stood there uncomfortably.

"Cosette, get off." He said dully. She took a step back with a confused look on her face.

"How…?" she stared at him.

And suddenly, she was angry.

Since this happened, Cosette never became angry. She couldn't think of anyone or anything to be angry at. But she was all of a sudden angry at Enjolras.

"Why did you get to live?" she barked out, eyes glaring through her tears, "Why did you survive!? What about Marius!? Why couldn't he!?"

Enjolras was stunned. Cosette had actually _raised_ her voice. She's never been one to yell, not like this. He had never seen her angry. But this look in her eyes, the scowl on her face, was almost intimidating.

"Of all the men, it just had to be you!" she yelled further. And that line hit him. It hit Enjolras so hard. Because it made him ask—why me? All the others had loved ones, people who truly cared. But he didn't. He didn't have anyone. Yet here he was.

"You think I want to be here!?" he asked sternly, taking a step forward and looking at her with dark eyes, "You think I wanted to be the only one to live, the only one to continue through this _miserable_ life?"

Cosette was now staring up at him, still glaring, but it was faltering. Because she realized what she said. Realized what she'd done. And listened to how he replied.

"I—"

"Is that not what you wanted to hear? Were you hoping I'd just take this?" he stepped toward her.

"Listen to me—"

"No." Enjolras slammed the door in her face quite suddenly. Cosette tried knocking again, talking through the door and trying to coax the man back out. But it didn't work.

_'Good job Cosette. The time when you needed someone and you ruin everything.'_

Thirty

Éponine should probably pop back into work. She knew she needed to. Just in the past two weeks she's missed four days without a word to the managers. It was going to make her lose her job—it didn't matter how understanding they were of her situation right now. If this continued to conflict with her work, she'd be fired.

On top of this, she knew she needed the money. She needed to pay for rent, needed to pay for essentials. But getting herself to actually show up was difficult. Éponine didn't want to face her bosses after just bailing on them multiple times in a row. It was embarrassing, to say the least. She didn't want to look at the disappointment in their faces, didn't want to hear the doubt in their voices.

But it had to happen.

So, eventually she finally pulled herself together. She made a plan.

_Make yourself look presentable._

_Show up around opening tonight (after all, they never put you on the schedule for Tuesdays)._

_Explain how difficult it's been for you, but don't milk it._

_Apologise more than once for slacking off._

_Remind them how loyal you've been in the past._

_Tell them you'll work hard, you just felt overwhelmed by your personal life._

They're nice people. They'd have to go for that. Right?

Thirty-One

Cosette really didn't want to deal with the Metro. Not now. She just fought with a friend (whom she assumed dead) and her face was obviously streaked with tears. She knew people wouldn't think anything of it, but she still didn't like the idea of crying next to a stranger.

Why was she so stupid?

She just found out Enjolras was _alive_. And instead of trying to console him in any way, she let herself get angry with him.

Stupid.

She didn't want to go back and see him again, because she was certain he wouldn't forgive her senselessness. But she needed to. She needed to let him know that she cared he was alive. Let him know that she understood the difficulty of the situation. Let him know that she needed someone. Musichetta was back in the countryside, Éponine seemed to just disappear. If Enjolras could prove to be a companion through this, then she knew it would make everything that much less difficult.

Tomorrow.

She had to go back tomorrow. She had to control herself, try to keep strong when explaining herself. She had to make sure he didn't overreact.

She never in a million years thought she'd need Enjolras.

But right now, Cosette did.

* * *

**I would just like to thank a few of you reviewers, because you almost always manage to review every chapter, whether it be a lengthy review or a mere "good job!" So, thanks to SleepingwithinWater, StarCatcher1858, and LivingHalfwayThere. Y'all are great!**


	10. Part Ten

**Oh gosh, I almost thought I wouldn't be able to update today, but I had to cancel a meeting I was gonna go to, so here it is! And look, we're in the double digits now! As usual, I've been writing constantly and in the last few days I've written some pretty good stuff that I know you all will enjoy when you get to it.**

**So, I hope you all enjoy!**

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Thirty-Two

Enjolras went back to the college students' apartment just as the red-head had told him to do. This time, a young man answered the door and gave Enjolras a questioning look.

"Is the red-head girl here?" he asked quickly before the younger could say anything, causing him to become more curious.

"And who's asking?"

"The guy who bought drugs off you guys last night." Enjolras replied, "She said she'd get me some contact information."

The college student almost looked amused (for what reason, Enjolras wasn't sure). With a sigh, he called into his apartment and a few moments later the red-head stumbled her way out of the bedroom, "This guy says you were supposed to give him something."

"Information." Enjolras confirmed as the younger man stared at him for a moment.

The girl stared at Enjolras briefly before recognition crossed her features, "Yeah, he wanted Jeff's number." She grabbed a notepad and scribbled down a couple words and a phone number before handing it over to the ex-soldier, "Just tell him you got his number from us." She tapped on the paper over where she had written her name. Before Enjolras could say anything more the door was closed in his face once more. That was growing to be annoying quickly.

As he stepped back into his apartment, Enjolras reached for the phone and began to dial the number.

Thirty-Three

When Enjolras returned home, there was a new message on his answering machine—he didn't think anyone would call him now. So, since this was so odd, he played the message.

"Anton, it's your mother," he froze a little at the sound of her high voice, "your father insisted I didn't call, but I had to."

Enjolras moved to sit on his couch, a heavy sigh escaping him, "We got a letter a few weeks ago saying you got injured out there in your senseless war. They also said you were due to return back sometime within the window of this week, so I know you'll hear this message sometime soon.

"I just felt obligated to see how you were doing—if you _really_ need something, call my cell and I'll try to get back to you. Your father still doesn't feel up to talking to you, so I'd recommend not calling him."

And her message abruptly ended. No "goodbye" or "I love you," but Enjolras didn't expect either of those.

He really needed a smoke right about now.

Thirty-Four

Enjolras inhaled deeply, allowing the sharp and rough feel of weed to fill his lungs. A few moments later, he released, watching the smoke as it left his mouth. He stared up at the ceiling for some seconds before taking another drag.

Marijuana was interesting to him. Its effects were different from both cigarettes and alcohol. Cigarettes were plain with minimal impact; alcohol filled him with energy and confused his system. Marijuana calmed and soothed him—muscles felt heavier yet well relaxed, he was still thoughtful yet he never felt overwhelmed by whatever he was thinking. Everything almost felt as if it was verging on slow motion, but he enjoyed it.

Weed didn't make Enjolras stop thinking about his friends. It didn't make him stop thinking about anything. It just made him think about it all differently. He felt too… satisfied, for lack of a better word, for anything to bother him much at all. He could think all he wanted about the fact that his friends were dead, but he wouldn't cry, or panic, or yell, or feel overwhelmed by pain. He just felt.

Sure, it didn't do anything good for Enjolras, but it did make things a hell of a lot easier.

Thirty-Five

Again, Cosette found herself frozen in front of Enjolras' door, taking deep breathes to relax herself (though that _smell_ made it a little difficult). If she could just muster up the courage to fix things…

She raised her hand slowly to knock on the door—the taps were lighter than before due to her nervousness over the moment.

At hearing the knocking on his door, Enjolras looked up curiously—was he suddenly a popular person to visit? Slowly, he stood, walked to the door in a bit of a haze. When he answered, his reddened eyes fell on Cosette, which caused them to narrow slightly.

"You here to yell again?" he asked simply. Cosette's large eyes stared up at him.

"No, that's definitely not why I'm here." She replied while lightly holding his arm, causing Enjolras to flinch back briefly, "First, I'd like to apologise for yesterday." Enjolras scoffed some, "I'm genuinely sorry—I never intended to have a temper with you."

"Why were you here anyway?" Enjolras took back his arm as he stared at Cosette sternly.

"I needed to know if you were alive."

"Did you go to everyone's homes just to confirm whether they were dead or breathing?" his expression was harsh—Enjolras really didn't want to deal with this right now.

"No, I—" Cosette stopped herself, closing her eyes for a few moments to hold back any tears, "I thought I saw you the other day. I wanted to ignore it, told myself I was just getting you confused with someone else. But there was just something that was telling me it was you." Enjolras stared thoughtfully, a slight frown tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Well, now you know I'm here—why does it matter?" a hurt look crossed Cosette's pretty features.

"Because we're _friends_." Her voice raised an octave, "Do you just want to be alone through all this?"

"Yes." He stated bluntly, "I don't have to worry about anyone caring too much."

"But I don't want to be alone, Enjolras!" her eyes were watering again.

"You have other friends." He stepped back to slam the door, but Cosette put her hand against the door firmly.

"So do you." Cosette stared with power in her eyes, something Enjolras was never accustomed to seeing, "And I think you need to realize that some of us are here for you."

"It seems you're the only one that cares." He responded, "But you really don't need to." He turned away.

"I'm coming back tomorrow."

"I won't answer the door."

"I'll break in."

"Yeah right."

"I will damn well try!" Cosette stepped forcefully into the apartment, "We can't ignore each other just because our friends are gone!" silence hung heavily in the air, "Enjolras, you're one of the only ones I have left…"

He stared thoughtfully down at her face, taking some time to really just think, "You'll just keep showing up?"

"Until you stop fighting me and allow us to spend healing time together." The man sighed loudly and ran a hand through his hair, tugging frustrated at its tangled ends.

"Fine."

Thirty-Six

_"Do you think they'll like me?" Cosette asked as she and Éponine approached the café. The blond's eyes were worried yet excited as she looked to her friend._

_"Cosette, everyone likes you." Éponine replied with a smile, "If it helps, there'll be some people here I don't know—I'm meeting some of their friends, too."_

_"Only a little."_

_It was their freshman year of college—the girls didn't attend some big, fancy university, but a modest school. Éponine's education was paid for mostly by scholarship and she thought this school was the best she could get. Cosette's father paid for the education, but they had run into some financial problems, so the girl decided to go to a less expensive school, even if it definitely wasn't her first choice. They were roommates and in an essential math class together, so they certainly had enough time to get to know each other over the past couple months._

_"All of your friends are studying elsewhere and you aren't very good at meeting new people—I think it'll be nice for you to meet my friends and branch out a little."_

_"How many of them are there?" the girls entered and Éponine led Cosette to a staircase._

_"Only three that I know—Marius, Courfeyrac, and Feuilly." Cosette nodded, "I'm not sure how many friends they've brought, though."_

_The two looked around the second floor, "Courfeyrac and Feuilly sound more like last names."_

_"They are." Éponine saw Courfeyrac and waved to him, "Don't ask why they prefer that, I don't think even they know."_

_The young man met the two halfway, hugging Éponine's thin frame tightly. When Éponine introduced him to Cosette, he shook her hand lightly, making a flirty introduction of himself with a wink._

_"Down, boy." Éponine mocked while lightly pushing Courfeyrac's shoulder. Cosette giggled some, "Come on, let's introduce you to the others so you can hang out with a few sane people."_

_"I think she likes me." Courfeyrac said confidently as the trio made their way to the others. Marius wasn't in sight, but Feuilly was there, sat with two other men, both of which were tall with light coloured hair. And Éponine and Cosette would be lying if they said they didn't sigh just a little at the sight of one of them. He was probably the most handsome human being they had ever set their sights on. Bright blue eyes, sharp features, just the right amount of stubble covering his chin. And his naturally firm gaze made him seem impossible. Yep, he was definitely good looking._

_"Hey, Éponine." Feuilly greeted with a bright smile. Éponine leaned down to give him a very brief hug, "How've you been?"_

_"Swamped by school," She replied, laughing delicately, "but, I'm managing." She looked over her shoulder toward Cosette, "This is my roommate Cosette. Cosette, this is Feuilly."_

_Cosette stepped forward and shook the new man's hand, "It's nice to meet you." The two talked for a few moments before Feuilly clapped his hand over the shoulder of the man next to him._

_"Guys, this is Combeferre." Feuilly started. The man gave the girls a smile and shook both their hands. Feuilly's hand stretched out beyond Combeferre to point to the next man, "And that one's Enjolras."_

_At hearing his name, Enjolras looked up. His eyes moved between Éponine and Cosette for a moment before he gave them a slight grin, "Nice to meet you both." _

* * *

**So, an update should be up some time on Saturday-my schedule is a little packed that day, but I want to keep my updates routine as they have been.**


	11. Part Eleven

**I almost forgot to update, I've been so busy today with tons of personal stuff! But its here! So, I'm on about chapter 21 in writing, but I'm slowing down a little because ideas aren't flowing as well as they usually do. I'm determined to figure out some more stuff to do with it, because I don't want updates to slow and whatnot. We'll see what happens.**

* * *

Thirty-Seven

Enjolras sat stiffly on his couch as he eyed Cosette across the room—she was in his kitchen making some kind of meal for the two of them.

_'How does she do it?' _he thought. How is she managing to push through just a little and be stronger than him? He's the soldier, so why does it seem he's merely the civilian and she's the true warrior? Sure, she cried (nearly as much as he did) and Enjolras could see how painful every day was for her, yet she somehow pushed through this to put up the front of so much strength. It was admirable, to say the least. But how was she managing all this?

Cosette was soon finished and began walking to Enjolras with two plates in hand. She set his down on the coffee table and settled on the opposite end of the couch before she begins eating her portion. There is a difficult silence between the two as Enjolras stares at his food. It lasts for a few long moments before Cosette looks to her companion.

"Do you want to do anything?" Enjolras turned to her, "We can't just sit here in silence the whole time."

"I don't particularly care." He replied while reaching for his bag of weed. Cosette set her hand on his forearm.

"Drugs? Really?" she questioned sternly (the smell of it tended to give her a terrible headache, which was the main cause of her opposition to it).

"Why does it matter?" he shook her hand off and grabbed the bag. He quickly began to roll a joint.

"Look, this is just a coping mech—"

"_Shut up_, _Cosette._" Enjolras was glaring, "I don't need you looking out for me—I don't even need you here." He stood and walked to his window leading to the fire escape, frustratedly forcing it open and stepping outside. He quickly lit the joint, inhaling deeply as he sat on the box he had out there. Cosette watched him from where she sat, slight worry in her features. Where did Enjolras go and who was this man disguised as him?

Thirty-Eight

Éponine missed work again. Why she wasn't fired yet, she didn't know. They should fire her, of that she's certain—she's become a careless slacker. She sleeps in all the time, eats very little, and does nothing to take care of herself. Whenever she did go to work, she was a mess, a problem just waiting to happen. And when she was at home she was merely a burden to herself.

At taking a glance around the apartment, Éponine realized she needed to clean. It would be good for her to do so, for her mental and physical state, but there was no motivation. So why try?

When her cell phone suddenly rang, she jumped a little too much and yelped a little too loud. She honestly hadn't heard her ringer for days. It was probably work. She needed to answer it then. So, Éponine walked to the kitchen and picked up the device.

Cosette.

She couldn't do it. She couldn't handle hearing Cosette's voice; she probably would never be able to. So, Éponine let it go to voicemail—maybe the she could force herself into at least listening to a bit of it.

Thirty-Nine

Cosette was growing frustrated—Enjolras _really_ didn't want her around and Éponine wouldn't answer any calls. She honestly hadn't seen the girl in weeks.

_'And why haven't you just gone by her apartment?'_

She couldn't do this alone—she tried making it through all this on her own, but she couldn't deal with it.

So, when Cosette arrived at Enjolras' apartment at her usual time, she had a plan.

Enjolras looked like he had just woken up, but that didn't stop him from giving the woman his usual frustrated looked as she entered.

"Put on something decent." With a heavy eye roll, Enjolras glanced at his attire—sweatpants and a hoodie. He gave Cosette a defiant look, causing her to groan, "Don't be a baby—at least put on a pair of jeans."

Once that task was done—which took much more time than it should have—Cosette dragged him out the door. Enjolras glared at the back of her head as they continued out of the apartment and onto the street. He wanted to know what the hell she had planned.

She led him down to the Metro and they got on the train heading northwest. He had taken this route many times before, so it wasn't anything new to him—he just tried to recall everything in this direction so he could have an idea where they were going.

The got off the train only two stops later and Cosette's hand once again found his sleeve (she really didn't need to do that, he wasn't a five year old who'd run away). They were soon on the streets and walking through a less expensive part of the city—what was here? Enjolras tried to remember what made it so familiar.

When they entered an apartment complex, he remembered. Éponine lived here.

Why did he need to be here?

Eventually, they were in front of her door and Cosette knocked loudly. Enjolras stared for a few moments at the blond—did she honestly have to drag him along so he'd have to deal with two people?

When Éponine finally answered the door, she looked similar to Enjolras—a constant frown, frumpy clothes, a slight glare in her eyes. But when she set them on Cosette they widened a little. She was about to speak, but then her gazed travelled up to Enjolras. She couldn't stop the gasp that escaped from her mouth. Enjolras was prepared for her to hug him as Cosette had done, but she took a step back instead. Her wide eyed gaze didn't leave his—she was in a completely different state than Cosette had been in.

The silence growing between the three was becoming incredibly tense. Cosette hated it, but the other two seemed too distracted by each other, "Éponine…" the brunette slowly looked back to her, "where have you been?"

Éponine licked her dry lips and cleared her throat, "I…" she held her head in a hand for a few moments, "here."

"Why wouldn't you call or visit?"

Éponine's gaze was already back on Enjolras halfway through Cosette's question. She was still in shock—after all, she assumed he died with the others.

Cosette could see how distracted the other was, "Can we come in?" Éponine merely stepped aside and Cosette dragged Enjolras inside. Her apartment, by far, was a complete wreck compared to the others' homes.

"You're alive." Éponine muttered, almost inaudible, but Enjolras still caught it, giving her the slightest of nods.

"Don't feel like it."

* * *

**Look, good things are happening! **

**Don't forget to review!**


	12. Part Twelve

**Well, today has felt long and stressful. Posting this new chapter was probably one of the only things I was looking forward to. **

**So, thank you guys-its nice to know everyone was pleased with the last chapter. I hope you enjoy this one just as much, if not more.**

* * *

Forty

Cosette tried to make things smoother—she tried to make small talk, get her friends to react, but nothing was working. It infuriated her. She needed these two, but they seemed like they didn't care at all.

Finally, she stood from her seat, drawing their attention, "Will you two _at least speak_?" she was glaring some, "It's as if you don't care about anything anymore. I don't want to be the only one taking care of us."

"I'm taking care of myself." Éponine replied.

"You haven't left this apartment in days!" Cosette threw up her arms, "You don't try talking to me at all; you look like a mess; you didn't even go to Marius' funeral!" that statement hit each of them hard, and Cosette immediately regretted it. Her face grew blank as both her friends had solemn looks on their features, "Musichetta decided she'd leave town to deal with this…" she started shakily, "And I've tried _so_ hard to make things easier for me. But I can't do that alone."

A scoff (which seemed forced) was heard from Enjolras, "I don't need this." He stood and walked to the door.

"Enjolras." A small voice said. He turned around, his reddened eyes making contact with Éponine's, her look of pain quite similar to his.

"I don't need anyone else," he started, "This constant pain isn't going to leave, so why pretend it doesn't exist? Just because you're reliant on other people doesn't mean I have to be."

He was out of the apartment before either woman could stop him.

Forty-One

_Cosette and Marius were celebrating their one-year anniversary. One year since Éponine introduced them and lost him. Of course, she and Marius were ever dating, and she was almost certain he was never attracted to her, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt when she "lost" him._

_She had taken that year to get over it. There was still pain sometimes when she saw them together, but she no longer looked at Marius as if he was gold. Her attraction to him was minimal._

_Éponine had dated a couple people, even was with Bahorel for a little bit when the two were first introduced about eight months ago. But no one really stirred her interest. She was _constantly_ surrounded by good looking men, yet she never saw herself dating any of them. Since she snuffed her attraction to Marius, she hadn't found anyone as attractive or appealing as she normally would._

_She spent the evening alone—she and Cosette had requested to be roommates again for their sophomore year, so, in their room, she was all alone at the moment. Éponine was expecting Cosette to return later that night around eleven, but then the blond called and said she was staying at Marius' tonight. Their girl time would have to wait. Éponine didn't want to spend the rest of the evening on her own. She could call Courfeyrac—he'd never complain._

_Nearly an hour later, she found herself meeting Courfeyrac at a restaurant just off the base (since he was still in training, he was required to live on base). What she didn't expect was to see Enjolras also sitting there. They then explained to her that Enjolras needed to relax a bit, so he was forced along. _

_The three spent time catching up—between schooling, work, and boot camp, getting to see each other was becoming difficult._

_"Hey, Ép," Courfeyrac started, thoughtfully, "isn't tonight Marius and Cosette's anniversary?" she gave him a curious nod, "I know you say you're over him, but… did you just ask to hang out tonight to forget about that?"_

_Éponine laughed lightly, but when she thought about it, she began to wonder, "No, Courf, that's not why I'm here; I was getting lonely."_

_"Do you want a relationship?" Enjolras asked with genuine curiosity after a moment._

_"With you?" she joked while raising an eyebrow. Courfeyrac immediately began laughing, covering his mouth with his hand to quiet himself._

_"No, no, no." he said quickly, but remained relatively calm, causing Éponine to also laugh, "I mean, you just haven't dated in a while, I was curious."_

_"I don't see the need for being in one, at least not now." Enjolras also smiled pleasantly at that statement—she understood (now that she was over Marius), unlike most people he knew, that the world didn't revolve around romance._

_And they left it at that._

Forty-Two

Éponine and Cosette had been silent for some time since Enjolras walked out. Éponine was still stunned, frozen a little. She was certain that he had died. Since all the others were lost, she just assumed he was too. But… how? How did he possibly survive?

"Why have you been avoiding me?" Cosette finally asked with sad eyes. Éponine stared back.

"I couldn't see you without it causing memories of the others." Éponine said in a tone uncharacteristically small, "I thought by avoiding everything, I'd forget everything."

"And how has that gone for you?"

Éponine sighed heavily, "I could never forget." Cosette moved to sit near her companion and slowly set her hand on Éponine's shoulder soothingly.

"I need my best friend," the blond started. Éponine looked into her eyes, "and if you say you don't need me, I'll understand. But avoiding me won't help your or I."

Éponine bit the inside of her cheek and looked to her hands, "I'm just—I don't know what to do. I don't know how to deal with this." Cosette nodded, the slightest of smiles on her lips.

"I don't know either—you can never know what to do when someone dies. You just need to keep living, even when it gets difficult." Éponine's sad eyes met Cosette's.

"When did you get so wise?" the brunette grinned slightly as her friend's smile grew. Cosette merely shrugged.

"I've never been too wise, I just know what to say."

A silence spread between them for a few moments. "Should we go find Enjolras?" Éponine's voice still shook at saying his name—she was still trying to convince herself he's alive, not just a ghost.

Cosette shook her head, "We'll just show up at his place tomorrow morning; that's what I've done the last few days."

Éponine was hesitant—she'd be seeing Cosette again every day. She was growing accustom to being on her own, the transition would be difficult. And Enjolras. Suddenly he was in the picture. This was feeling like a little too much all at once. Maybe she should just skip town to avoid it all. But Cosette needed her. And she (un-admittedly, of course) needed Cosette as well.

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**I know we just got E/E interaction and then it was suddenly gone, but I promise we'll get more. :)**

**Don't forget to review!**


	13. Part Thirteen

**Ew, more stress. I've got some stuff on my plate since its coming up on the end of the school year, so I think updates might become further apart-I'll try my best to avoid that, but with the way things are going with my school and with my parents, they might take some time.**

**Now, besides that, I think y'all will enjoy this chapter; I know I did!**

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Forty-Three

Cosette, again, was knocking on Enjolras' door. And she was still alone. Éponine was supposed to meet her here fifteen minutes ago. But she didn't show, so Cosette continued on her own. As he usually did, Enjolras answered the door with a little glare, letting Cosette in without argument—he couldn't bring himself to leave her out there, so he didn't try.

Cosette put on the best smile she could—if she can try at some positivity, then maybe it would help her friend, "Hello, Enjolras." He stared her down in confusion as he went toward his window—Cosette could smell the marijuana in the room and set a hand on her forehead in hopes that she wouldn't get a migraine, "Wanna do something today?"

Enjolras gave her a look saying _'you're seriously asking?' _Cosette rolled her eyes—she needed to get through to him.

"We should go out to lunch." She started. Again, Enjolras gave her a look, "Somewhere simple and nearby."

"No thanks." Enjolras was smoking again—Cosette could tell this had already become a slight addiction to numb the pain he felt. She set her hands on her hips, but kept a determined look on her face.

Then there was a knock on the door; Cosette's eyes brightened (was it who she thought it was?) as she quickly walked over. There stood Éponine, still looking like a mess, but at least she was trying.

"You actually came." Cosette sounded surprised.

"I missed the train, so I walked." She replied as she stepped inside. Her eyes landed on Enjolras sitting on the window sill and her expression still reflected a look of subtle shock. She still felt as if she was seeing a spirit. Enjolras looked back with a raised eyebrow.

"What are you doing here?" he questioned, taking in another deep breath of weed a moment later.

"Cosette asked me to come." She said softly. Enjolras only rolled his eyes.

"Is this some kind of team-up to get me outside?"

"No, Enjolras—we just want to see all of us recover." Cosette looked at him with some kind of concern. The ex-soldier turned his gaze to Éponine—she looked as if she didn't completely agree with Cosette. It looked like she was trying to keep anxiety from getting the better of her. Even she didn't want to be here, at least not entirely. It was obvious that Éponine would have been just fine keeping herself locked up in her apartment.

But she was trying. That counted for something. That was one step better than him. So, Enjolras stood while putting out his joint.

"What do you have in mind, Cosette?" the blond girl smiled slightly. She couldn't tell what made him suddenly more agreeable, but she wouldn't complain. She had to work with it now.

Forty-Four

Éponine felt like a complete fish out of water. She was trying to refrain from having a panic attack. Being out to lunch—even at just a small, simple restaurant—was hitting her. There were too many people, too much going on. She felt trapped.

Enjolras, similarly, felt stuck here. He wouldn't say he was panicking, but he felt highly uncomfortable here. He wasn't enjoying a minute of it. He wanted to yell at every person he saw, get himself out of here. There really wasn't a point, though.

Cosette tried hard not to feel uncomfortable. She wanted this lunch to feel natural, wanted everyone to feel some reminiscence of the old times, but with two friends sulking, it was difficult. She wasn't a therapist or psychologist, she didn't know how to help them (and she knew the two were too stubborn to actually go to therapy). She so desperately wished this would somehow turn around and get better.

"So, guys," she started. Both friends looked at her, two very different expressions waiting for her to continue, "I can tell this is a little…difficult—"

A slight scoff of a laugh escaped Enjolras as he muttered, "It's more than just a little."

"But… we really need to get out of this." Éponine raised an eyebrow at the other girl, "It's like we've become zombies—I don't want that—"

"Are you gonna make these speeches every day?" Enjolras asked.

With a bit of a glare, Éponine spoke, "You never heard us complain about your speeches—your _rambling_—before you went to war." She sounded stern, her lost confidence returning for a brief moment, "Maybe you could take some tips from us."

Enjolras and Cosette were shocked—for a moment, they saw the fiery Éponine they once knew. But as quickly as she appeared, she was gone.

"I don't want to preach at you, but don't you guys want to move on from this?" Enjolras and Éponine shared a look, "I _know_ you don't want to live like this forever—you just won't put in any effort to make things better."

Enjolras wanted to argue that it was difficult to move past, but he knew Cosette would only say having each other would help with that. So, he sat silently for her to continue. But at that, Cosette was done. Silence took over again.

"I have an idea!" She suddenly smiled at the two. Éponine tried to give a look of earnest interest, but she couldn't be sure yet how good this idea would be, "Stay at my place."

Éponine was surprised, "Stay with you? Why"

"We'll always be just within each other's reach." Enjolras rolled his eyes, but said nothing on the matter, "Please? It's lonely in the house by myself."

It took Éponine only a few moments to decide she'd stay with Cosette—she was needed and Cosette would have visited her every day anyway. But Enjolras was being his usual stubborn self. He didn't take to the idea at all—he honestly cared very little for it.

The girls finally got him to agree to stay for just one night. It was a start.

Forty-Five

Cosette showed her friends into her house. They had made stops at both their apartments to collect some belongings and were quickly on their way into the suburbs.

The blonde showed each of them to the two guest rooms (one of which was in the middle of a remodel that should have been done months ago while it also doubled as an office) and, after, insisted they all hang out. Her friends, already worn out, agreed hesitantly and allowed Cosette to put on one of her favourite movies—Little Miss Sunshine—as they all settled in the family room.

_'Hardly a family to actually fill the room.'_ Enjolras thought dully.

Forty-Six

Enjolras stared at the ceiling in silence. The light in the room was the shine of street lamps through the window. It was some absurd hour of the morning, the time when even the people that worked the early shift aren't awake. He was entirely restless, kept up by the memories that filled the house. This was a bad idea, staying here. He shouldn't have agreed to it. His eyes watered slightly, and he quickly wiped at his them, sniffling some.

Enjolras sat up, deciding he wouldn't get any sleep tonight. He grabbed his hoodie off a chair and stepped into the hall carefully. He thought he saw no signs of life, but then he could see a light was on somewhere at the front of the house. Curiously, he walked toward it. As he inched closer, he could see someone sitting on the couch, making no movement.

Éponine.

He stared for a few moments, then thought it was best to leave her alone.

"You need something?" her question took him by surprise, "I heard your footsteps—I have pretty good hearing." She turned some to look at him. Enjolras, after looking down the hall for a moment, walked slowly over, taking a seat next to the girl, "Can't sleep?"

"It's this damned house." He said quietly yet firmly. Éponine gave a nod of understanding, "As if my apartment wasn't bad enough."

"Have you been sleeping much?" Éponine turned, pulling her legs up to relax her chin on her knees.

"No." a silence grew between the two after this. Éponine stared at the man thoughtfully—he had an unflattering layer of stubble on his chin, large, dark bags under his eyes, his posture was slumped as if a painful weight was upon his shoulders. He looked just as miserable as she did. It wasn't good, but Éponine was almost glad that she wasn't alone.

Cosette was dealing with this very differently than they have. She cried often when the news first hit, but that slowly lessened as time went on. She tried to find something good in the future. She's experienced this before and she learned from that experience that things will always get better, even if it seemed there was not a sliver of hope.

That's not how Éponine and Enjolras acted. They had never experienced losing someone like this before. And they lost nine people at once. So, they brooded. They sat around seeing nothing good to ever come again.

Enjolras looked down, his eyes closed for a few long moments. Éponine continued to watch him as he then pressed his fists to his forehead, eyes still closed. He was so broken. Such a different man than he was before he left. Watching him was like observing a dangerous animal—Éponine was drawn, but she didn't know what the safest move was. He then stared off at the wall, gaze distant—he was in a completely different place.

And suddenly he was crying.

It started out subtly. Enjolras was trying to contain it, because he _really_ didn't want anyone to see him like this, but he couldn't stop the memories from flashing before his eyes. And soon his body was shaking. He had become a quiet crier, one that always tries to hide it, but Éponine could see how destroyed he was.

She was shocked. Enjolras was _crying_. And here she was, just staring. Did he want her comfort? Would he shove her off?

Éponine set her feet back on the ground and reached a hand over to set on his arm. Enjolras didn't pull away or flinch, but slowly looked up to her. It was a firm grip, not gentle and light as Cosette's hand been. With her fingers pressing just enough into his skin, Enjolras could feel that this was how she was expressing her pain to him. And that only made it more difficult to hold back tears.

"How—" Enjolras' voice croaked slightly, causing him to stop and try to compose himself, "how have you done it? This whole time, I've never seen you cry or completely lose your temper." He stopped again to take in a deep breath, "You've kept yourself so… level."

Éponine moved further, "I've had years of practice." They held eye contact for a few long moments, tears still slipping from the man's eyes.

"I wish I could've had just a bit more." He muttered. A sad smile threatened at the edge of Éponine's mouth as she stared at him. A few moments of silence were shared between them before the woman looked away.

"We should try to get some sleep." As her hand released his arm, she stood, waiting for him to join him.

"You go—I won't be getting any tonight." Éponine grabbed his arm again and gave it a final squeeze before disappearing down the hall.

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**So, going pretty good?**

**Don't forget reviews!**


	14. Part Fourteen

**Well, here's another chapter. After this one, I might change from updating every two days to updating every three days (or something similar) since I have a bit of a full plate, but I want to keep my updates as routine as possible.**

**I hope you all enjoy!**

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Forty-Seven

_Cosette and Marius' wedding took place soon after she finished college. He proposed to her the summer between her Junior and Senior terms, giving them a year to plan._

_The venue was beautiful—it was a resort with a large, private lawn (where the actual ceremony took place) and an extravagant reception hall. The room was decorated in light, pastel colours and lots of white. It was a sweeping, airy location with floor-to-ceiling windows and large, open French doors. The perfect location for a summer wedding._

_They had a surprisingly long guest list; there was Cosette's father (who was growing quite ill) and Marius' grandfather, Gillenormand. Then the bridal party, consisting of Courfeyrac, John, Éponine, and Musichetta. Their immediate friends; the families of these immediate friends; friends from high school, college, and the base; their close relatives; then the relatives others insisted be invited, but that the couple hardly knew._

_The ceremony went on for about half an hour—people cried, smiled, clapped. And quickly they all flooded into the reception hall for dinner, which went by quite quickly, as well. It was the dancing that people were looking most forward to._

_Cosette and Marius changed the first dance tradition due to the lack of three of four parents. The newly-weds obviously shared the very first dance, but then Gillenormand stepped in to dance with Cosette. At that, Éponine stood to dance with the groom and, eventually, the couple danced with the different members of the bridal party. By that point, everyone was invited out onto the dance floor._

_Éponine spent a few songs dancing with Gav; he was now probably Grantaire's height and would likely only continue to get taller (after all, their father was a very tall man himself). The siblings relished the half hour they spent glued to each other's hips—they wished 'Zelma could have joined them, but she was now living in New York City and was overwhelmingly busy with work._

_Musichetta then stole Gav away, saying he needed to find a new dance partner. Éponine took that time to dance with each of her friends, even stole Cosette from Marius for one song._

_Sometime later, Musichetta returned to Éponine, telling her that Gav found company in a cute ginger girl and decided to leave them be. So, the two women danced together._

_"Hey, Ép," Musichetta was looking over her friend's shoulder, "look who's sitting out."_

_Éponine turned around and her eyes landed on Enjolras, bright red tie and pocket square standing out in the mess of pastels. He was watching different people, his eyes shifting every few moments to find someone new to look at. Éponine rolled her eyes with a smile._

_"He should get up and dance." The two girls shared a wicked grin before they began to approach him. At first, he didn't notice, but soon Enjolras' eyes fell on the two bridesmaids._

_"People watching at a wedding?" Musichetta asked, setting a hand on her hip, "Now I know you're not _that _boring."_

_"What are you two doing?" He gave them a suspicious look._

_"Come dance with us." Éponine said. Enjolras shook his head bashfully, "It's a wedding, 'Jolras; have some fun." Before he could protest, she grabbed one of his hands. Musichetta followed suit, taking hold of the other. Enjolras couldn't help but smile and allow himself to be pulled to his feet—he could let loose a little._

_On the dance floor, the girls immediately began swaying as Enjolras awkwardly tried to figure out what to do next. The pair giggled._

_"You need—" Musichetta unexpectedly set her hands on his sides, "to work your hips." He blushed only a little as the woman began to move his hands. The girls laughed loudly at his confusion._

_"I'd really rather not."_

_"Just try." Éponine grabbed a hold of his hands and began moving his arms. Musichetta stepped back from the man, still laughing at how difficult Enjolras was._

_After a few minutes, they had him "dancing" and Bossuet came over to take Musichetta away to dance with him (he thought dancing with anyone else could only lead to disaster). So, Éponine continued getting her friend to dance._

_"You really aren't that good at this," she said with a laugh as Enjolras rolled his eyes._

_He also chuckled a little, "Maybe during a slow song I'll do better—John tried to show some of us the dance he learned in wedding rehearsals."_

_"Well, when we get a slow song, come find me." Éponine replied with a smile, "If you'd like to sit out now—"_

_"Oh, thank god." Enjolras was already leaving the dance floor, causing the girl to laugh._

_Late in the evening, when things quieted down and the families with children had left for the evening, the DJ began playing mellow music. At first, Enjolras thought he'd just skip on that dance with Éponine, but once he saw her drinking with Grantaire, he decided to take her away (he knew that it would lead to trouble if both were drunk). He offered his hand and at first she looked at him in confusion before her eyes widened happily._

_"Did you forget?" he asked while leading her to the dance floor._

_"I might have." She responded. Clumsily, Enjolras started dancing the way John had instructed—the girl close, hand high on her waist, and feet efficiently leading. And when Éponine knew what dance he was trying to lead her in, she giggled lightly before taking over. After a moment, they became smoother, "Well, look at that—you _are _better at slow dancing."_

_"I'd hardly say that." Enjolras muttered but still gave her a smile._

_Some of the guys, after taking notice that Enjolras was actually _dancing_ with a _woman_, began to make jokes and comments. They'd definitely keep reminding him about the time Éponine led him in a dance._

Forty-Eight

Éponine found Enjolras on the couch where she left him. He had finally fallen asleep, slumped awkwardly on the couch's arm, but she assumed he'd only been sleeping about an hour or so. Should she wake him?

No. He needed all the sleep he could get.

She walked past him and to the kitchen, starting to make coffee slowly. She leaned against the counter and stared at the fridge with unfocused eyes.

A few minutes later, when the coffee was done, she poured a cup, adding a bit of sugar and crème. Cosette then came walking over.

"What's he doing on the couch?" she asked the brunette while also pouring herself a cup of coffee (though it was more like half coffee, half milk).

"He couldn't get any sleep." Éponine replied, "If we leave him be, he'll probably get more sleep than he's had in weeks."

The girls sat at the counter, silently drinking their beverages. Éponine's eyes kept drifting to Enjolras—even if his sleep he looked troubled. The pain never left him.

"Do you think this was a bad idea?" Cosette asked, staring into her brown coffee.

"Bringing us over?" Éponine clarified.

The other girl nodded, "Last night I was just thinking—it's obvious you and Enjolras would rather be left alone. I basically forced you two here. Was that bad of me?"

Éponine thought for a few moments, eyes moving from Enjolras to look at the room. She may have initially disliked the idea, but did that make it bad? "No… We may oppose it, but… it's not bad." Éponine looked back to Cosette, "And I think… I actually like being here." She recalled the night before.

Cosette smiled slightly, releasing a sigh of relief, "That's good." She looked over at their sleeping friend, "How do you think he feels about it?"

"He probably doesn't mind it… I can't exactly say specifically." Éponine hoped he'd adjust.

Forty-Nine

When Enjolras awoke, he was surprised to find himself on the couch. He was surprised he even slept at all. He stood up, the soreness from his sleeping position momentarily stopping him. After stretching, he began walking around slowly. He heard no movement and assumed the two women had left.

Enjolras made his way down the hall to his room. As he walked, his eyes kept moving between the photos lining the wall; some were of people he didn't recognize, but most were pictures of his friends, all smiles and good times. There were photos from holidays and events, trips they'd gone on, or just photos from everyday life. It caused his frown to grow even more.

Enjolras went straight to his bag once he entered the guest room—he told them he'd stay only one night, so that's how it was gonna be. Quickly, he began to head for the front of the house. Once he reached to front door, his had reached for the nob, but a piece of paper with his name written in large letters stopped him. He picked it up.

_"Don't think about leaving. We needed to run to the store._

_ "We'll bring back lunch._

_ "-Éponine"_

Enjolras let out a sigh before dropping the note. Should he stay?

Another hour or so. Then he'd go.

Enjolras quickly walked into the backyard for a smoke.

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**I hope this chapter was satisfying. Don't forget to leave some reviews!**


	15. Part Fifteen

**Hey guys, look I updated! Though I've been in the middle of dealing with school testing, I'm still given enough free time to write. I believe I've gotten a few chapters written in the last week. So, updates shouldn't be too spread out, but I can make no promises.**

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Fifty

They convinced Enjolras to stay another night. He wasn't sure how they did it, but sure enough, here he was, lying in that stupid guest room again.

It was just another sleepless night.

At about midnight he got up again and exited his room. Something in Enjolras hoped Éponine would be awake, though he wasn't sure why. But the house was entirely dark.

His feet shuffled as he walked slowly to the living room.

Something didn't feel right, though. Enjolras had never been afraid of the dark before, but now the dark was all too intimidating. The slightest sound made him jump a little and he very quickly began searching for a light switch. As his pace quickened a little, he tripped and stumbled, his breath hitching for a moment.

He felt panicked. There was no need to be, but his mind told him something in the dark was going to get him. Told him the enemy was in the dark.

When he finally switched the lights on, he closed his eyes—it became too bright too soon. But his breath slowed down and the enemy was gone.

Enjolras settled on the couch, taking a few deep breaths.

The dark. Now he had something else to unsettle him.

Fifty-One

Enjolras couldn't bring himself to leave. The two women convinced him to stay for a _third_ night and, now, he wasn't sure if he could get himself to leave. Not with the thought of being alone with his dark apartment looming over him.

Damn it.

Enjolras told himself he still didn't need them, but in the back of his mind, he was thinking he couldn't deal with being alone. Not without panicking, at least.

So, here he was again, lying restlessly in "his" bed. And he was getting up again, leaving his room and quickly walking to the living room. But this time, there was already a lamp on. He involuntarily brightened a little—Éponine was awake.

But at turning the corner, Enjolras saw no one there. Only a note with his name on it.

_'Not another damned note.'_

He read this one with a slight glare.

_"I knew you'd be awake again—you really don't seem to sleep well in that bedroom. I also bought some chocolate, it's in the cabinet above the fridge if you want any._

_ "If you really need me, don't hesitate to wake me up._

_ "-Éponine"_

After a minute, Enjolras turned on another light and entered the kitchen, opening the cabinet Éponine specified. It wasn't just plain chocolate—it was a box of short bread cookies with dark chocolate on top of them. Enjolras believed he could almost smile.

He took the box with him to the table and sat down.

Fifty-Two

Cosette awoke Éponine the next morning, asking why she always found Enjolras in a different room than he started the night in. In confusion, the brunette allowed her friend to lead her out into the main room. She expected to find Enjolras on the couch, but this time he had his head resting on the table top in the kitchen. The box of cookies was next to him, almost entirely empty.

Éponine decided to wake him—sleeping there was probably terribly uncomfortable. So, she reached her hand out set in on his shoulder. Enjolras looked around with scrunched, confused eyes as Éponine's hand stopped rubbing circles on his shoulder.

"Did the cookies do you good?" she asked while picking up the box and putting it away.

"Is there something wrong with your bed?" Cosette looked concerned as Enjolras rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"No," he yawned, "I always have trouble sleeping." He stretched his back, groaning as it cracked loudly. Éponine began to make coffee. It all felt… domestic. This was too odd for Enjolras, the simple talking and everyday motions. It was uncomfortable.

For a few moments, everyone was silent.

"Are you going to stay?" Cosette asked. Enjolras gave her a simple nod—he didn't want to discuss why. So, it was left at that.

Éponine watched Enjolras as he stared at the counter—he didn't seem so consumed by depression. But that doesn't mean he was any better.

Fifty-Three

Enjolras awoke slowly, a sense of relaxation and calm hanging over him. As he lied in bed, eyes still heavy and body still tranquil, he recalled the absurd and detailed dream he had—he definitely needed to tell Combeferre about this one.

So, with a yawn and a series of stretches, he stood, ignoring the headache and looming confusion. His fuzzy gaze helped lead him to the phone sitting on the desk; he wasn't sure where he left his cell phone, so he didn't bother searching for it.

He quickly dialled the number he knew by heart (this was one of the few he could say that about) and awaited an answer. Instead, it rang ten times then went to voicemail.

_"You've reached Devon Combeferre. I'm sorry I couldn't answer your call, but if you leave your name and reason for the call, I'll get back to you as soon as I can."_

The phone then beeped and Enjolras began to speak, "Hey, Combeferre, I just had a crazy dream; you and all the other guys died—" he then, feeling more awake, took in his surroundings. Why the hell was he in Cosette and Marius' guest room? His jaw suddenly became slack, his eyes losing their light. These past couple months weren't a dream.

They were a living nightmare.

Enjolras felt numb as his breathing quickly grew heavy. He stared at the phone for a few long moments as tears teased at falling from his eyes. With a wave of anger passing through him, he yelled out as he threw the phone violently against the wall.

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**Hopefully you can review and tell me what you thought. I enjoyed this chapter (and the one that follows it), even if not much happened, and I hope you all did to.**


	16. Part Sixteen

**Well, I think everyone will be excited to know that, in Microsoft Word, this story has just recently exceeded 100 pages! I have about 27 chapters right now! I have seriously impressed myself, to be perfectly honest. Thus far, this is definitely one of my favourite stories I've written and its nice to know other people also enjoy it.**

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Fifty-Four

Éponine was in the middle of changing into her clothes when a scream and a slam on the wall startled her. She immediately panicked, forgetting her clothes and settling on an oversized sweater (which had, at one time, belonged to Combeferre before she stole it, but that is _well_ beyond the point), before she hurled open her door and ran into Enjolras' room.

When she caught sight of him, Enjolras was aggressively tugging at his blond locks, tears falling freely from his eyes. He was kneeling on the ground, staring at the broken phone as gross sobs racked his whole being. With worried eyes, Éponine quickly moved to his side and dropped to her knees. She swiftly wrapped her arms around his shoulder, her comforting instinct she'd learned as an older sibling taking control. Enjolras didn't fight it as he crumpled in the woman's arms, his sobs becoming noisier and thicker; one of Éponine's hands went up into his hair as she readjusted herself so not to fall over entirely from his weight.

Enjolras had never had anyone hold him when he cried—no one as a child, no one as a young adult, no one as a soldier. But here it finally was, the comfort he never realized he so desperately needed. And now that he had it, he wasn't sure how easy it would be to let it go.

Éponine could feel the man's tears soaking the front of her shirt, but she didn't allow it to bother her. Enjolras' head was lying on her chest and he looked uncomfortably slumped, but she dared not move him around. Slowly, she relaxed her chin on top of his mess of hair and felt his grip tighten only the slightest.

It finally sunk in for her how quickly she was there for him, and she realized this is what Cosette was talking about—this is why she wanted them all to stay together. For comfort, for support, for protection, for the things only friends can offer. And with holding Enjolras so close, Éponine understood how good this was for her—she herself was beyond the need for comfort, it never could help her, but being here for someone (especially someone as broken as this ex-soldier) made it all easier. She could cope with the pain by helping her friends.

Cosette came back to the bedroom after a couple of minutes. When she heard Enjolras' yell, she jumped from her seat immediately and called from the kitchen, asking if things were okay, but she got no response. She thought leaving the man alone would be best, since he always pushed away someone offering comfort. But when she realized Éponine hadn't returned as promptly as she usually did, Cosette needed to investigate.

She found her friends on the floor of Enjolras' room, arms tightly woven around each other. Concern immediately struck her as she took a step forward, but then hesitated. She had never seen Enjolras like _this_ before.

Éponine looked over her should when she heard light footsteps and made eye contact with a dejected looking Cosette. The blond girl's eyes seemed to be asking if she could join the two, asking of this wasn't so private that she'd have to leave. Éponine only gave a small nod, and quickly Cosette was also on the floor and wrapping her arms around her two friends.

Fifty-Five

Hours later, Enjolras was lying on the couch, eyes still red and swollen. But he had calmed down. That didn't mean he no longer felt like utter shit, though. He kept replaying the morning over and over again in his head, the memory becoming more painful each time.

Éponine and Cosette were in the backyard, talking and giving Enjolras some space. The weather was quite chill, leaves were falling from the trees, and clouds occupied the sky most hours of the day—definitely not the best setting for people with depression eating them from the inside out.

"What else can we do for him?" Cosette asked, rubbing her hands together to create some warmth, "He's dealing with this much harder than we are—he went completely downhill just as he took the first step up."

Éponine stared up at the bare trees in thought, "I don't know—I haven't had to deal with this before." This morning had probably been one of the most difficult times for her—she was generally good at keeping this sadness under control in the last week or so, but when she held Enjolras, she was flooded by the pain all over again.

"I haven't either." Cosette said softly, "I've been upset, depressed, and have dealt with a few others in similar states, but none have been as unpredictable or as worrisome as Enjolras." The women looked at each other for a few long moments.

"He—" Éponine stopped for a moment, "he needs a reason to move on." Cosette's eyes brightened just a little.

"You're right—he needs a purpose, something to keep him busy."

"If we can help him move on, then it makes it easier for us." Éponine started thinking up things for Enjolras to do. Her goal now was to save him from himself.

Fifty-Six

The trio went back into the city after realizing Enjolras only had a few changes of clothes—they thought it would do best to collect more of his things and some of Éponine's stuff.

So, now they were walking down the street, all silent. Éponine continued trying to figure out what would be best for Enjolras—he needed something he could put his focus and dedication into.

Enjolras froze for a moment, as if a thought suddenly came to him, "I forgot something."

"Then let's go back." Cosette began to turn around, but Enjolras halted her.

"No, you two wait." He seemed on his toes—not quite nervous, but pretty dam close.

The two girls shared a look verging on suspicion before they gave in. Éponine pointed to a Starbucks just up the streets, "Find us there when you're done."

"Be quick." Cosette said to Enjolras' back as he was already making his way back.

Fifty-Seven

An hour. It took nearly _an hour_ for the dealer to get there.

Enjolras had gone to a payphone, pulled out the crumpled paper with the man's number on it, and called, saying how much he wanted and where to meet. The other man promised to make it as quick as he could, but it was still too long. Once Enjolras got the drugs and got back to the girls, they were highly suspicious. After all, how long does it actually take to run back to your apartment and pick something up?

Honestly, Éponine didn't care too much about the details—yes, she'd like to know specifically what Enjolras was up to (though she had an idea), but it wasn't terribly important to her. Cosette was the one worrying and asking questions that Enjolras kept avoiding the whole way back.

Fifty-Eight

How Cosette got them to sit down to dinner was still unclear. One afternoon she decided she wanted them all to sit at the table and a few hours later there they were, all silent and sluggish.

They were all eating rather slowly, hardly focusing on the food. To their surprise, Éponine was the one that put forth effort to start a conversation. It was difficult since it wasn't like there was anything new to discuss and she knew most topics were best to avoid.

Finally, Cosette let out a sigh—there was something she had wanted to talk to them about, "So, I got a call yesterday…" she started. Éponine looked up, but Enjolras kept his eyes staring at his plate, "it was Marius' grandfather." She smiled sadly, "He asked me to visit him for the holidays." At first, Éponine's eyes narrowed in confusion, "He wants me to head to his place sometime next week before Thanksgiving and stay until after Christmas. If you two would like, you—"

"No." Enjolras interrupted stiffly.

"You didn't let me finish."

"You were gonna ask if we wanted to go. No."

Cosette sighed. "Don't be like that—why not just go?" Cosette tilted her head; she could see him going back within himself.

"No." he looked up at her with stern eyes. Éponine sat by and watched the two silently.

"Éponine?" Cosette looked hopeful, "Will you go?"

The brunette was hesitant, "I'm not sure." Cosette expression fell, "I'm sorry, I just… I'm trying to get back into my life."

Enjolras looked up at her thoughtfully—he wanted to hope she was partly staying for him, but he knew that was unlikely. Since that morning a few days ago, he realized how nice it was to have someone there if he needed.

"Okay, well…" Cosette thought, "I'll probably leave Monday."

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**So, I hope everyone found this chapter to be painfully wonderful.**

**Hope you can leave a review!**


	17. Part Seventeen

**Okay, I'll tell you guys now, this chapter is such a filler chapter that it isn't even funny. While re-reading it before posting, I nearly cringed. So, to make up for that I'll post the next chapter tomorrow morning so you guys don't have to wait for something interesting to happen.**

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Fifty-Nine

Enjolras decided that, since Cosette was out of town for so long, he'd go back to his apartment. Once she was gone, he packed his things, told Éponine his plan, and left. Éponine didn't mind much—she had a feeling this would happen, she knew he'd try to disappear again.

She tried staying in the house by herself. But that made it feel bigger and scarier and lonelier. How Cosette had done it was beyond her. It felt impossible.

So, like Enjolras, she left for the city and the familiarity of her apartment. At least there she didn't feel so exposed and vulnerable to nothing.

Sixty

Éponine went to work on Thanksgiving—she was scared to go in, but she had received a call from her boss asking if she'd come in for a meeting. So, she showed up at noon, two hours before their opening. The few other employees looked a little surprised as she made her way to the back and the offices.

She now sat in front of her boss, trying to keep calm as he thought for a few moments.

"We've all been really worried about you," he started, looking up at her, "we don't want to be harsh, but since this we don't know how much we can rely on you."

"That's understandable." Éponine added simply.

"But you've been with us for years—we can't bring ourselves to fire you." A sigh of relief escaped the girl, "We're not sure how you're doing right now, but if you need we'll make your schedule shorter and give you fewer hours."

"It would help a lot—I just don't want to be any more of a hassle than I have been."

"Its fine—you just need to be sure to focus on work once you're back." Éponine gave a slight smile.

"Why are you still putting up with me?" she asked smally.

"Like I said—you've been here for years and had always been a dedicated employee."

Sixty-One

Enjolras' phone began ringing. He ignored it as he lied across the couch, smoking another joint. The buzz of the ringer caused him to grow annoyed and he was about to get up to turn it off, but it then went to voicemail.

_"Enj, I know you're there,"_ Éponine's voice said. Enjolras sat up a little, _"answer your phone—I just wanna know how you're doing."_ She repeated herself as Enjolras rolled his eyes and stood. He quickly got a hold of his phone.

"Why?" he asked, a little annoyance in his voice.

_"Just checking in, that's all." _Éponine replied, _"What are you doing?"_

"Nothing."

_"I believe it…"_ Éponine muttered. She bit her lip in thought, _"I'm gonna stop by."_

Enjolras sighed loudly, "It's like you're making up for Cosette's absence."

_"Sorry, I just… I dunno, I'm not in a shitty mood today. And I'm nearby, so might as well."_

_'And there's something I want to do.' _She thought.

"Fine." He hung up his phone then.

Sixty-Two

_For Thanksgiving, everyone was going to Bossuet, Joly, and Musichetta's place—it was larger than most everyone else's houses and it was their turn to host it anyway (the group always had a rotation, celebrating holidays at a different home each year)._

_Musichetta was off-the-walls excited—she wanted to decorate and cook and really get into this. Of course, she called on Éponine and Cosette to help (they sent Bossuet away because they _really _didn't want to burn down the house), so the three of them, plus Joly and Marius, spent almost all day getting things ready; Musichetta was determined to have a full-on feast, a celebration the others would strive to better in years to come. They also invited John over to help with the decorations and, thus, everything was going smoothly._

_As their friends began to arrive, Musichetta began to grow nervous—she expected something absurd to happen so to ruin the evening. She thought maybe the turkey would explode, or maybe all mayhem would break loose. _

_At that, Cosette merely told her to stop watching so many movies and just calm down._

Sixty-Three

Éponine let herself in. Enjolras was surprised, since he remembered he had the door locked, but then again, this was _Éponine_, who had quite a talent for picking locks. She didn't give him any greeting, just sat down beside him on the couch as he continued smoking.

"Why did you want to stop by?" Enjolras asked, looking over at his companion for a moment, "And I know there's a reason—have you become clingy in the time we've spent apart?"

Éponine was silent for a moment, "Well, it's Thanksgiving… I…" she tried to think of the best way to put it, staring at the smoke escaping his mouth, "You only do weed?" she asked in an attempt to fill the space as she thought.

Enjolras felt thrown off, but gave her the answer, "Yeah…?" she smirked very slightly, and he gave her an expectant look, "So, why…?"

"I want to take you somewhere." She replied with a bit of a hopeful look.

"Where?"

"Can it remain a surprise?" Enjolras hesitated, taking a long time to consider, "I just… I kinda need to."

This only perked his interest further—he wanted to know specifics. But he knew Éponine would continue to be scarce until they arrived wherever she wanted to take him.

With a sigh, he nodded, "Fine."


	18. Part Eighteen

**Well, here it is, like I promised. I love this chapter and I hope you guys do, too. It is wonderfully painful, so you guys are warned.  
**

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Sixty-Four

As the taxicab continued driving, the passengers silent, Enjolras began to recognise all his surroundings. Once they had driven across Arlington Memorial Bridge, he was all too suspicious—the only thing he really knew of in this direction was, well, Arlington National Cemetery. He was actually growing scared. Éponine couldn't be taking him _there_, could she?

But she did. Oh god, he really didn't want to do this. What could she possibly want to show him here besides _them_? And that was the last thing he wanted right now.

When the cab pulled in to let them out, Éponine stepped out and paid the driver, but Enjolras stayed put, a stubborn look on his face. Éponine let out a sigh—she knew this would be difficult. But she was going to get him out here.

"Enjolras…" he looked at her with a glare, "please come with me."

"I'm not getting out." He replied.

Éponine huffed determinedly, "Don't be a five year old—get out." His glare only grew.

"I didn't agree to this." He said firmly, "You can't make me."

"_Please_." She stressed with pleading eyes, "I don't want to do this alone."

"This is just about you?" The cab driver looked impatiently in the mirror at the young man.

"No." Éponine reached her hand toward him, "I'm only part of it—you're the other part."

He stared at her open palm hesitantly, "I'm _not_ going in there." Éponine looked toward the cab driver.

"You are acting like a child, and I'm certain this man wants to get back to his job."

"Then he can drive me back to my apartment."

"_Enjolras!_" he looked at Éponine in surprise, "I _need_ you to get out and go with me."

Need. He didn't expect that. Éponine never needed anyone. Not before he and the others left for the war, not after, and not ever. But suddenly _she needed him_. Something in his chest seemed to flutter a little at hearing that simple statement. He still didn't want to leave the vehicle, still didn't want to see those impersonal gravestones, but… was there a chance that he needed to in the same way that Éponine needed him in this moment?

After a good minute of silence, he gave in (and he told himself he really had to stop doing that); he took grasp of Éponine's hand and allowed her to help him out. They walked silently into the main building, full of many people—visiting on Thanksgiving might not have been the best plan—and went to the service desk.

"I'm sorry about forcing you to do this," Éponine started quietly. Enjolras stared at her before taking back his hand and stuffing it in his pocket. He kept his gaze on the floor, away from the sight of any faces or images, and tried to ignore the hustle and bustle surrounding him. Éponine began talking to the woman sitting at the desk, asking for the locations of their friends' gravestones. After a couple minutes of that, Éponine collected the information and a map and led Enjolras outside, "You ready?"

"No." He continued to keep his gaze down. Cemeteries in general bothered Enjolras—it was eerie, the thought that you were surrounded by a multitude of rotting corpses, how so many people just walked among the gravestones without a second thought. It made him feel uncomfortable in virtually every way.

Éponine, again, offered her hand—not only to lead him, but as support, as comfort. But he didn't take it. No matter how difficult this would be, a part of him wanted to remain stubborn, wanted to at least reassure himself that he wasn't entirely dependent on the security offered by others.

Sixty-Five

With a sigh, Éponine began walking up the path, Enjolras following closely behind. A couple of tours passed them, a few vehicles of people visiting family's graves, some on foot. But just as these two were doing, all the others minded their own business. Honestly, it wasn't like anyone actually cared who, what, or why others were here for—everyone was here for themselves, so why bother with anyone else?

The two had to head to the southern part of the cemetery. Walking would take a while, but Éponine always loved walking—it was always the best time for her to think. As for Enjolras, she couldn't say, but he wasn't making any sound or protests, so he didn't exactly have a say in how they'd get to their destination.

As they grew nearer, Enjolras' heart pounded heavier—it was as if he could feel how close they were getting. His breathing became quicker, his head felt heavier. The cold wasn't helping him at all—he shivered and his teeth chatter.

No, not now. He couldn't just completely lose it right now. He wanted to push himself through this. He told himself '_get through it, you can manage that much, right?'_

Éponine knew exactly how close they were—she was the one with the map. Her entire being felt overwhelmed with each step she took. She decided that she wanted to do this—she wanted to see her friends again. This was the best she could do. Her lungs wer shaky, her throat felt thick; the behaviour of someone who would cry. But Éponine was almost certain her body was completely out of tears thanks to the pain of her childhood. She wasn't going to cry now. She never cried during this whole ordeal, she couldn't cry now.

And as her steps began to feel unstable, she slowed until Enjolras could be at her side. He didn't seem to notice until her footsteps aligned with his, and only then did he steal a glance at her. He could see it in her eyes. See how she seemed to both doubt and completely trust her decision to come here today. The struggle she so desperately tried to keep under wraps.

Éponine's hand then found his. At first, Enjolras wondered why. But the way she squeezed his larger hand, the way she almost seemed to cling with everything she had made him realize she needed something to ground her, to convince her to hold it all together. And he didn't shy away from it. He needed it to.

They were soon on the grass—Enjolras knew if he looked up his eyes would see hundreds of gravestones and he knew somewhere among them would be his friends. A heavy, shaky breath escaped Éponine's throat as her eyes scanned the lawn then looked at the map in her hand; she continued leading on.

Then, a couple minutes later, she stopped. That's the moment Enjolras dared to look up. First, he looked at Éponine's face and saw the near vacant look in her eyes as they stared ahead of her. And slowly, he followed their lead, letting his eyes settle on the sight ahead of him. Standing only a few feet in front of him was the first gravestone.

Sixty-Six

Thomas Joly.

Enjolras' breath hitched in his throat. It all felt so painfully real now. Even more painful and more real than it ever felt before. He didn't want to continue down the line at all. His eyes began to scan; just a couple graves down from Joly was Chandler Bossuet. Enjolras' throat felt thick as his eyes began to redden.

Éponine, similarly, felt stuck to her spot, her body going through motions of pain as she read the first gravestone. And then the second made it worse. She wanted to speak, to ask Enjolras if he wanted to be alone, or if he wanted anything at all. She couldn't form a word, not only because she'd forgotten how to speak, but also because she knew what a bad idea it would be. So, the two shared a couple of minutes of silence in this location.

In his mind, Enjolras tried to think of what he would say if he were to speak aloud—_"I'm sorry. You two had so much potential, yet I outlived you when my future was never as promising as yours."_

Eventually, the two wordlessly decided to move on.

They came upon Alexander Feuilly next.

Again, they spent several minutes there. By this point, Enjolras didn't stop the tears that fell from his eyes—there was no point. He just refrained from loud sobs or gasps or sniffs. Like before, he thought the words he wished he could say verbally, Éponine doing similar as her face seemed to freeze like a sullen statue.

Drew Bahorel.

Marius Pontmercy.

Same motions again. The two spent nearly five minutes at each grave, but that didn't feel like enough time.

Julien Grantaire.

This caused something inside both to ache even further—he was closer to Éponine than he was to any of the others. Enjolras released her hand, allowing the woman to step forward a little; his tears continued falling as his eyes followed the poor girl. The corner of her mouth turned up into a sad smile as every memory she had with the drunkard replayed in her head. She set a hand on his gravestone while closing her eyes tightly. Her knees began to feel weak. This was the most pain she had yet to endure.

Eventually, she stepped back, hand finding Enjolras' as they continued moving.

They finally reached Devon Combeferre.

As Enjolras did for her, Éponine released his hand. He almost automatically collapsed to his knees next to the gravestone, and it caused something to break in Éponine's heart at the sight. His cries grew, becoming unrefined and uncontrollable. This time, he whispered. Words Éponine couldn't hear, but she knew he was speaking—this was something between the two best friends and she had no place being a part of it.

Finally, he stood, swiping a hand under his eyes quickly, but it had little effect. His eyes found Éponine's again—both had red eyes, both looked completely broken. Their hands came together again and Éponine wordlessly began to lead Enjolras back. Confusion pulled at him a little, and he swallowed heavily, hoping he could speak again.

"What about…" he started, but it was hoarse and difficult.

"They aren't buried here." Éponine responded quietly, quickly, and painfully.

Erik Courfeyrac and John Prouvaire.

Enjolras didn't want to ask further. When he himself didn't feel like he died of sheer agony, then he'd get his answer. Right now, neither needed to speak further.

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**I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and can leave a review!  
**


	19. Part Nineteen

**So, nothing too exciting in this chapter. Its a little filler-ish, but I guess its getting us somewhere.  
**

**And I promise, this one won't be "enjoyed" like the last one was, as everyone seemed to cry... you're welcome, I hope you all enjoy pain.**

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Sixty-Seven

The drive back into the city was entirely silent. There were no possible words that could be shared in those moments. There was an unspoken agreement of silence and both Enjolras and Éponine stuck to that hard.

They arrived back to Éponine's apartment first. She opened the door and was about to slide out, but she froze for a moment and looked over at Enjolras, who was looking out the opposite window, "Thank you." She muttered almost inaudibly. At hearing it, though, Enjolras turned to face her.

Once Éponine was out of the car, she felt a little lost; a little discontent without the warmth and clammy feeling of Enjolras' hand. And that made her stop before she shut the door, a thought coming to her. She leaned down to look back at her friend.

"Do you want to come inside?"

"What?"

"Well, there's still so much time left in the day—might as well." Enjolras stared back at her; should he stay? It wouldn't hurt anyone. But could he actually deal with that?

Wordlessly, he pulled cash from his wallet and paid the cab driver. Once he slid out of the taxicab, his hand found Éponine's again, almost out of an instinct developed throughout the day, and they made their way into the building.

Sixty-Eight

_During the winter, snow wars often occurred within this group of friends. Not snowball fights, but snow _battles_. The first time it happened, they didn't expect it to become a regular event._

_It was one particular day during one of the greatest winters they had seen in a while—snow was everywhere all the time. Everyone thought to go on a walk in the park to enjoy the season._

_It was truly Courfeyrac that started it. Marius and Cosette had put themselves apart from the others for a majority of the day and he just wanted a good laugh. So, he made a near perfect snowball and aimed directly for Marius' back. Of course, his aim just had to be a little off and, instead, his weapon hit the back of Cosette's head, which was luckily shielded by a colourful knit hat._

_Marius had looked worriedly at her, but Cosette was laughing as she turned around, hoping to see who threw the snowball. And her eyes landed on Grantaire, who was chuckling to the point where she assumed it had to be him. So, she also made a snowball and threw it toward him. Luckily, it ended up hitting him just below the groin, but he was so surprised by the contact in itself that he immediately went to work at creating his own ammunition._

_That was the point where things got heated. People began to form teams and alliances, created boundaries and barriers, and make a collection of ammunition. The other people in the park watched in amusement as these young adults mimicked the behaviour of soldiers, some calling out orders while others followed them. _

_The battle seemed to last forever—other people came and went, all with similar reactions to the five-year-olds in adult bodies._

_Later on, if you asked who had won the battle, Enjolras would tell you it was his team—they were tactical and dedicated. But Éponine would tell you it was her team because they always had more ammo and they were bull-headed._

Sixty-Nine

It was after dark and Enjolras still hadn't left. The pair didn't do much of anything when they got back—the entire experience they shared earlier that day put the two in a very odd state of mind. Everything just felt fuzzy and surreal to them. So, they didn't try to do anything, they just let themselves be.

Since he had been in Éponine's apartment so long, Enjolras wasn't sure if he wanted to leave for the night. Would she complain if he stayed without saying a word? Probably not. She was easy like that, it wasn't vitally important to define plans.

So, they just continued in this simplicity, neither questioning it.

Eventually, Éponine could feel herself growing tired and decided it would be best to get to her bed now before she fell asleep on the couch. She stood and wordlessly stretched as she began walking toward her bedroom. Enjolras watched her for a few moments before looking about the room. He grabbed the extra pillow on a chair and set it against one of the armrests of the couch along with the two already there, trying to make things more comfortable for himself.

Éponine returned a minute later to bring him a blanket that he didn't ask for—she had nearly forgotten, but then she knew he'd be staying so she took one from her bed. She merely set it down on the couch, giving Enjolras the slightest of smiles before returning to her room.

Seventy

He couldn't sleep again. When could he ever actually sleep? Enjolras had been lying on the couch for nearly two hours, his level of weariness never growing. He was completely wide awake and wasn't sure what to do. He didn't care for TV and he knew it wouldn't help him in any way. He didn't want to eat Éponine's food. He couldn't do much of anything.

After a moment, he looked at the bedroom door thoughtfully. He then cleared his throat, "Éponine." He tried to make his whisper reach the other room, which he knew wasn't likely. But again, he tried, "Éponine." He raised his voice a little. Still nothing. So, he gave up on that plan (though he wasn't even sure what kind of a plan it was anyway), and sat up, looking around the dark room in thought. What could he do?

Enjolras eventually stood and walked toward Éponine's small bookshelf situated next to the window. He shuffled his way over, hoping not to bump into anything—he nearly hit his foot on a chair, but he safely reached the shelf. He would pick each book up for a couple of moments and hold them up to the window so he could read the titles; most were names and authors he didn't recognize.

Ultimately, he settled on a small, paperback that didn't sound like a romance novel. He began to walk back to the couch, but he had forgotten about the chair, thus, stubbing his toe roughly against it and letting out a brief yell. But it was enough to wake Éponine who, over the years, had developed into a very light sleeper. She sat up in her bed and immediately swung her feet over the edge—honestly, she wasn't in a very deep sleep anyway, so she hardly felt groggy at all. And she had forgotten that she had someone over, so in her mind she was hoping she'd be able to fight off the "intruder."

When she threw open her door, Enjolras—who had settled in the damn chair that caused him injury—jumped in surprise, but his heart quickly settled again.

"Shit, I'm sorry about waking you." He whispered, hand still clutching his foot. Éponine let out a sigh of relief when she heard the familiar voice, remembering that Enjolras was staying the night. She reached for the lamp next to her door and clicked it on, eyes momentarily squinting as they adjusted.

"What did you do?" she asked, just above a murmur. She then looked at his foot, "You're bleeding on my floor."

Enjolras looked down and, sure enough, blood was dripping from his toe. He froze for a moment—blood had never bothered him before, but something about it was entirely different now, and he couldn't put his finger on it.

"Come to the kitchen." He waddled behind Éponine as she turned on more lights before she opened a cabinet and pulled out a small box full of first aid supplies, "Here." She said simply as she put it on the counter for him, "And take care of the floor when you're done."

Enjolras stared at her for a moment before sitting on the counter and pulling a couple of Band-Aids out of the box. Éponine went to sit on the couch, closing her eyes for a few long seconds.

"Again, sorry for waking you." Enjolras repeated.

"I was hardly asleep anyway." She lied on the pillows Enjolras had been using and stared up at the ceiling, "I probably won't get much more sleep."

"I thought you didn't have trouble sleeping." He quickly tended to his toe before hopping down and getting some paper towels.

"I don't—not sure why tonight is different."

"Maybe it's because I'm here." Enjolras said simply as he wiped up the blood from the floor.

"Maybe." It was silent again, "Enj… are you upset that I brought you to the cemetery?" he stopped, his eyes staring at the floor for a moment.

"No…" he rushed back to the kitchen and threw away the dirtied paper towels, standings still.

"I didn't think so."

"Why did you, though? What compelled you to suddenly go?" Éponine bit her lip and looked toward the man, whose eyes looked back at her in questioning.

"… I didn't attend any funerals; I couldn't bring myself to. But… I dunno, I suddenly felt like I had to go visit their graves. I guess something inside of me believed I was being a terrible person for pretending their graves weren't there." Enjolras came to sit beside Éponine. They said nothing to each other as they shared these moments of silence.


	20. Part Twenty

**This is a good chapter, I swear its good. And since I know its good... I'll just say "you're welcome" in advance.  
**

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Seventy-One

Éponine woke first. She could feel aches in her back, which were due to sleeping in the fetal position against the arm of the couch. Her arms felt stiff, too, but she ignored their protest as she lifted them above her head, groaning some as she stretched.

The extra weight she felt lying on her outer thigh caused Éponine to wipe the sleep from her eyes and look down. There, she found Enjolras taking up the majority of the couch and using her as a pillow, his dirty white tank top twisting around him, which could only mean he had moved a great deal throughout the night. With a sigh, she put her hand in his messy hair.

"Enj," she muttered sleepily. Éponine moved him very slowly in hopes not to wake him, but once she was standing and stretching, she could hear him grunt and begin to wake.

She walked toward the kitchen as Enjolras slowly sat up and looked around the room with squinted eyes. The woman halted to look back at her friend.

"I tried not to wake you…" Enjolras merely waved his hand dismissively as he rubbed his eyes and slumped back against the cushions, "Do you want coffee?"

"Sure." He replied, his voice still thick with sleep. Éponine began to prep coffee as he stared at her and began to wonder—what was his relationship like with Éponine before he was shipped out for war? It seemed centuries ago, a far off and forgotten time and place. Was it relaxed for them to talk? To be in each other's presence with ease? It had to be different from now—they were together in these moments because of something other than the mere desire to see each other. Conversation didn't come easy.

But then, Enjolras began to realize, there was something about Éponine herself that made everything easier. So many times in the past two weeks, he found himself hoping maybe she'd be there to comfort him or hoping she'd want to spend time with him.

It was different than how he felt with Cosette—he didn't want her comfort or her care. He didn't want anyone's. Excerpt Éponine's. Maybe that was why Cosette was so desperate to keep Éponine in her life—something about Éponine's personality made things so much more tranquil. It made Enjolras actually want comfort and want someone there on this difficult journey with him. He was never reliant on people—and he still wasn't—but this woman almost made him wish he was.

Éponine continued making the coffee slowly and silently, almost hoping Enjolras would speak to fill the empty air. But, unknown to her, he was caught up staring at her and thinking about this new "life" of his. He realized she made it easier. And that scared him. Because never in his life did he feel so dependent on another. The closest he came to this was with Combeferre. Why Éponine?

Before he even knew what he was doing, Enjolras stood, his feet making no sound as they moved slowly across the old carpet. Something in him felt pent up, becoming more and more so in the last week. And his body was on autopilot, telling his brain what it should do rather than the other way around.

Éponine couldn't hear the man approach. She still felt tired and her weariness distracted her as she worked in finishing the coffee. So, when she turned and found Enjolras standing a few feet from her, she jumped and put her hand over her heart for a moment.

"Fuck, Enjolras…" she looked up into his eyes, which had a spark in them that she never realized she missed until this moment. Éponine wanted to speak further, but she felt stuck and unmoving as she gazed up at Enjolras. There was a weighty silence hanging in the air as the pair stared each other down. Enjolras was trying to decide his next move, though his body already knew what it wanted to do. Éponine watched back, waiting, though her mind was screaming at her to do _something_.

And just like that, Enjolras had Éponine roughly pinned to the counter and his lips were crashing on hers.

It was so sudden and so sloppy, his dry, cracked lips nearly missing their mark. It had been years since he'd kissed anyone—though he wouldn't call this a kiss. It wasn't romantic, passionate, coordinated, or in-sync. This wasn't some cheesy film. This was his broken reality and damn if he cared whether or not he was smooth and skilled.

When Enjolras pressed himself up against Eponine, it was as if she was waiting for him. She even surprised herself when she nearly wrapped herself around him, hands tugging at his hair and pulling him close. Just like him, she was coarse and sloppy, but that wasn't from lack of skill, but rather the overwhelming urgency consuming her. Eponine didn't even realize how much she needed _this_ until the minute her lower back was painfully pushed against the counter top.

Their mouths were fighting, and rough, and working separately rather than as one. Warm lips moved instinctively, but ungracefully. Teeth clicked against each other. Tongues lashed out, but never moved together. Hands were rough as they grasped at each other.

Then, they abruptly stopped. Enjolras took a slight step back as, again, he and Éponine stared at each other, though now their eyes were a little lidded and their breathing became panting.

_What the hell did he just do?_

He needed to leave.

In a rush, he gathered his discarded hoodie, t-shirt, shoes, and hat as Éponine stayed frozen. Without a goodbye or a back glance, he hastily left the apartment, not bothering to fully dress himself until he was almost to the main entrance.

Seventy-Two

Even after he left, Éponine was frozen in thought. Did they just… kiss? She didn't even want to call it a kiss, because that implied some kind of romance. It was a belligerent and pain-filled interaction. That's all she could reason.

She couldn't think sensibly. She wanted to recall the moment, understand it, but she couldn't process it. Her mind was halted.

When rationality came to her, she knew—knew Enjolras would avoid her, knew he'd lock himself up in his apartment again. He'd try to cover up his actions and pretend he forgot them. But if she wouldn't forget, then he most certainly wouldn't either.

She couldn't approach him. Éponine knew it. How could she? And he should be the one to do it, the one to fix this.

Her mind went back to that "kiss." Back to that moment.

Did she enjoy it? Quite possibly.

Did she need it? It seems so.

Did she want it again? Well… she couldn't say no.

_'Pull yourself together.'_ She slowly began moving back toward the couch, collapsing on it once it was within reach. Now what?

Seventy-Three

Enjolras wasn't only mentally kicking himself. He physically punched his arm or his hand repeatedly as he kept muttering harshly to himself. People gave him many strange, if not slightly frightened, looks. But he hardly noticed.

"You fuckin' kissed her." He repeated the whole walk back to his place, never truly feeling the cold air nipping at his skin.

He wanted to just disappear. Sure, there was a part of Enjolras that wanted to turn back around and face Éponine, but he couldn't. What would he do? What would he say? It would be easier just to ignore it, even if he knew that was the dumbest decision he could make. He'd rather just avoid Éponine and pretend nothing happened.

Seventy-Four

After a week, Cosette was already getting lonely. She loved Marius' grandfather, she really did, but she didn't have any friends in Massachusetts. She wanted to see Éponine. Hell, she even wanted to see Enjolras. But she wasn't going to just leave the old man alone.

She decided to call Éponine.

When Éponine answered her phone, she sound odd, sounded dazed and distracted.

"Ép, is there something on your mind?" the blond asked curiously.

"It's nothing." The girl replied absent-mindedly.

"Well, if it's nothing, would you like to actually try to maintain a full conversation?" Cosette grinned a little in amusement—she wanted to truly know what was on her friend's mind. Éponine didn't respond for a few long moments, "If you can't hold a conversation, you'll have to tell me what's bothering you."

"Fine, fine." Éponine muttered. She tried, but she couldn't do it—she was too damn distracted. So, when Cosette insisted she be told about the distraction, Éponine said her goodbye and hung up.

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**I bet you guys just _hated_ that. Who needs kissing scenes anyway? ;)**


	21. Part Twenty-One

**So, I just found out the other night that the lovely epjolras over on tumblr put my fic on one of her lists and made a _beautiful _edit for it, which you can find here: /post/49413135116. Go take a look, because I freaked out a little when I saw it (I have a tendency to easily freak out though, so...)  
**

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Seventy-Five

Éponine started going back to work. She had absolutely nothing better to do and she needed a distraction. So, she started taking her hours and tried to be herself again. It was difficult, and everyone noticed how odd she seemed, but she needed this.

Enjolras thought maybe he should get a job—he can't continue living on military pay. But he ultimately laughed that thought away. Honestly, who would hire him anyway?

So, he went directly back to just staying up in his apartment and doing nothing; it's what he had grown used to and it's what he'd continued to do. It's not even that he completely liked this, but really, what else would he do?

Seventy-Six

Enjolras almost went back to Arlington. He had a particularly difficult night of tossing and turning, and he didn't know what to do about it. And when he finally rolled out of bed in the morning, his thoughts turned to his fallen friends, just like most days. He didn't cry, but he was distressed and spent much time brooding before he thought back to Thanksgiving those few days ago. If he could never see them again, this was the next best thing.

So, he pulled on his clothes, grabbed his hat, key, and wallet, and left the room in haste.

It wasn't till he was seated in the taxicab that he froze, his sudden enthusiasm leaving him. He couldn't go. He'd just break down. He was too weak to visit alone. Now what? The driver had already began moving down the street.

Enjolras changed his mind. He had the driver drop him off just a few minutes away and he simply began walking. He had no plans or aim, he just walked.

Even as the temperature continued to drop, the streets of Washington D.C. were still busy; so many people still congested the sidewalk, brushing past him without a care in the world. At one time, he enjoyed this, walking among the people and not knowing who they were or where they came from. Everyone was equal and the same in those moments. But now, he wished he could just have the pavement to himself.

Eventually, the cold got to Enjolras and he stepped into a familiar café. He almost wished he didn't.

Seventy-Seven

_Marius and Éponine picked the location. When they moved into the middle of the city, they were looking for new places to spend their time, hoping to learn the city._

_When they showed the place to Courfeyrac, it immediately seemed cosy; somewhere he would like to spend his time. The building was quant, homey, and welcoming—immediately, the three felt relaxed._

_They didn't mean for it to become their place. They would pop in every once and a while, but over time it became a regular thing to meet there (if it was too early for a bar, of course)._

_As they kept meeting new people, the café became their favourite place, the place they'd spend almost too much time in. The group didn't just go as a whole—they'd sometimes show up as a pair or a trio. The employees learned everyone's names and faces._

_It was _their_ café._

Seventy-Eight

Éponine wasn't sure what drew her to the café. She hadn't been there in months, but as she walked past it, she was compelled to step inside.

When she did enter, her gaze examined the room—it really hadn't changed at all. And when she accidentally made eye contact with an employee, she was surprised that she was still recognised. The young barista smiled brightly, waved, and said a quick _"hi, Éponine,"_ before she went back to working.

Éponine stood in front of the door for a few moments longer before slowly approaching the counter. She ordered her drink, the barista said, "we'll bring it to your usual seat," and Éponine began heading upstairs. It was always quieter upstairs—people tended not to stay for a long time, so they usually accumulated on the first floor.

She began to move to a table by the large window when she held and stared at the one of the men already there. His back was to her and his head was resting on his arms, but she knew it was Enjolras. She should leave. But no. She would stay; she wasn't going to let him get to her.

So, she sat at a table closer to the staircase where she could still watch Enjolras. She was glad to have her purse with her, because she'd actually have something to do. She pulled out her old, tattered book—_Frankenstein_—and began reading where she had left off so long ago.

A few minutes later, the barista came upstairs, "Hey, Ép." Éponine immediately flinched a little and looked up toward Enjolras, whose shoulders seemed to become stiff, "Haven't seen you in a while—how've things been?"

"They could be _a lot_ better…" her eyes moved between Enjolras and the barista. The man was lifting his head very slowly.

"Sorry to hear that." The barista also looked over at Enjolras, noticing Éponine's gaze continuing to move to him, "Isn't that one of your friends?" her voice was a little softer, hoping Enjolras didn't notice. Éponine gave a nod and the barista didn't ask further as she gave a small wave and disappeared downstairs.

The few other people in the room were in their own little worlds. And Enjolras turned his body to stare at Éponine, whose eyes were hoping to avoid his. But she could feel his eyes burning into her and slowly her eyes turned upward to his. She gave him a raised eyebrow, as if trying to tell him _"well, are you gonna do something?"_ He stared for a few moments longer as Éponine turned back to her book, pretending she was reading its content.

Enjolras then stood. But he didn't approach her. He walked right past her and to the stairs. Éponine was shocked as she heard him rush out—he wouldn't have done that regularly. He would approach her and talk to her. Maybe not about what happened, but they'd talk.

Was she growing… angry over this?

Seventy-Nine

Enjolras was frustrated with himself.

He made his way back to his apartment, all the while criticising himself. He should have talked to her. She was right there and he just zoomed right past her. She just _had_ to show up at the café at the same time he was there. He was really hoping he wouldn't have to face her, and he managed that for a few days, but now he had to struggle with that again.

He didn't know what he wanted to do anymore. He could only try to avoid this again.

Eighty

Éponine was distracted by her unnecessary anger toward Enjolras. He walked _right past_ her, _looked_ at her, but he did nothing. She always knew he was stubborn, but she never expected him to simply ignore her because of something as little as a kiss. Okay, maybe it wasn't such a little thing, especially for Enjolras, but they were friends—they could work it out.

Maybe Éponine needed to be the one to do something. She was almost certain Enjolras would never interact with her unless she initiated things. But what would happen? Would they discuss the kiss? Discuss anything besides that? It would be awkward no matter what.

She'll figure it out.

She had to.

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**Well, conflict is good and fun, it always means eventually something good is gonna happen...  
**


	22. Part Twenty-Two

**Oh god, I'm so sorry for making you all wait longer than usual. I've been so busy and distracted that an update slipped my mind. But here's one now. Also, I haven't had too many opportunities to write recently, so my updates will probably slow down (I've also become a _little_ preoccupied with a lot of Meg/Erik shipping from PotO-they've been an OTP of mine since I was about eight years old, so...).  
**

**Anyway, hope you all enjoy this.**

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Eighty-One

The snow tonight was more like slush; an odd mix between snow and rain. It was almost soothing for Enjolras, almost made him think he could fall asleep. But as he lied in is bed, he felt fully awake once more. He wasn't sure what kept him up anymore. It couldn't be the haunting memory of his friends' death. But it was still _something_. He always remembered watching them die; it just no longer turned him into a baby. Maybe his body had grown accustom to this lack of sleep. That seemed possible. But how does he condition it back to normal?

About fifteen minutes away, Éponine was also kept up, but this was because she was taking time to enjoy the mushy snow. Something about it always calmed her, helped her think. She was quite fond of this weather.

And in this moment her mind drifted to Enjolras. She was still frustrated with him, but right now she hoped she could see him. It didn't matter to her that it was verging on eleven pm, but she had this urge to go face him.

Might as well listen to that part of her.

So, Éponine grabbed her jacket and winter attire and left her apartment. She waved down a taxicab and, since it was late in the evening, she got to Enjolras' apartment quickly.

Her heart was pounding as she still tried to figure out what to even say to him. And as she made her way up in the elevator, she decided she'd do whatever comes to her in the moment.

Éponine didn't mean to knock so loudly on his door. But it did its job, because Enjolras rushed to the door, initially to tell the person on the other side to _"fuck off."_ When he opened the door and his glare landed on Éponine, he froze. The two stared at each other silently.

_"Do something!"_ Éponine's mind screamed at her. Then she remembered their kiss.

Similarly, Enjolras was trying to figure out what to do in the situation.

And rapidly, Éponine's arms were flung around his neck and pulling his face to hers. Just like their first kiss, this was sloppy and needy and noisy. But both were acting on it. Enjolras crushed Éponine's body to his as his lips pushed crudely on hers; she was tugging roughly on the ends of his hair as they uncoordinatedly entered his apartment and slammed the door behind them. Éponine was quickly pressed up against it, her teeth dragging slowly along Enjolras' lower lip.

Enjolras' hands couldn't stop moving as the pair tried making their way toward the couch. They were panting now, energy between them becoming more heated and their actions becoming more fervent. Enjolras tripped back onto his couch, but ignore any pain as the woman, now in his lap, slid her tongue in his mouth.

When what was happening sunk in, Enjolras pulled away, forehead pressed against Éponine's. Their breath mingled as the two remained silent. There was something about this moment, though, that made Enjolras want to stay put. He couldn't run. Because this time, Éponine initiated things.

After a minute, Éponine sat up and looked into Enjolras' eyes thoughtfully—she wanted to say something. But what?

Instead, a slight grin crossed her features as her hands rubbed slight circles on the back of his shoulders.

"We're not gonna discuss this, are we?" Enjolras asked simply and quietly. Éponine merely leaned in to press her lips to his.

What were they getting themselves into?

Eighty-Two

Enjolras was more confused than he had been in a while—what the hell was he doing? This thing he had with Éponine was complicated. He couldn't define what it was. He knew she was attractive (not just physically, but also in personality) and had always enjoyed being with her, even now, but that didn't mean he was attracted _to_ her.

So, why was he doing this? More importantly, why was Éponine doing this?

Enjolras dared not ask her. The next morning, he didn't try to discuss the topic. If Éponine brought it up, then he'd talk. But till then, he'd take things as they were.

The pair ended up sleeping on the couch, cramped and pressed together. Enjolras was awake first, but he knew that Éponine was such a light sleeper that she'd wake up if he tried to move.

But why should that matter? If he wanted to get up, then he would without care. So, Enjolras got off the couch, hearing Éponine wake as he groggily walked to the window and opened it to allow the cool winter breeze into the room. He stood in front of it for a few long moments, his skin becoming chill—it was a good way to wake up, but it kept him relaxed all the same.

Éponine tried to sleep, but all the movement had stirred her too much. And once the cold air travelled through the room, she gave up. When she sat up and looked around the room, wiping sleep from her eyes, she found Enjolras just standing at the window. She watched him thoughtfully.

Last night was _interesting_. Out of everyone, they were the two that never really dated—they didn't care to. But now that they were basically the only two left, would that change?

No.

They weren't dating. And they wouldn't. What happened between them last night was just another way of coping—that's what they told themselves. If it happened again, then it was, again, coping. Whatever it was is nothing to stress over.

Eighty-Three

Much of the morning was spent in a silence that was on the verge of being comfortable. But there was a bit of rigidness in the air that couldn't be shaken. Enjolras wasn't sure what to do—how do you interact with someone the day after you spend the night with them? Hell if he knew.

And Éponine remained so calm—it didn't appear as if anything made her uncomfortable. But similarly, she was hoping to talk to him; maybe not about last night, but something. This silence, after all, could only last for so long.

Eventually, Éponine sat herself beside Enjolras, pulling her knees up, and getting his attention quickly, "You seem a lot better than you were the other day." He gave her a look.

"Better? How?"

She shrugged a little, "You don't look as tired and you don't seem so… fragile."

"Fragile… I don't know about that." He reached for his bag of weed as he chuckled very lightly, but he then halted his motions to look at Éponine, "You're not gonna nag at me like Cosette, are you?" Éponine shook her head.

"It doesn't matter to me." She just knew in a few minutes he wouldn't focus so well on her words, "Maybe a better word is stable."

Smoke was soon deftly escaping Enjolras' mouth. Éponine lost herself for a moment in simply staring, taking in the subtle changes in the man—he started to look more relaxed, calmer. It brought a slight smile to her face.

"Who would've thought you'd smoke weed?" she said fondly. Enjolras ended up staring at her briefly.

"I decided I hate alcohol." He replied slowly, "And I can get a hold of this easy enough." Éponine looked back, slightly nodding.

"Wanna share?" Enjolras wordlessly handed over the fag.

Eighty-Four

_No one knew where the hell Bahorel got pot. They didn't try to ask. But they knew it wouldn't end well. And they also knew how severely it would end (if anyone on the base found out…)._

_Most of them avoided him while he had it. It was Éponine, Grantaire, and Feuilly who stayed with him. They almost got Courfeyrac to stay and almost got Marius too (but that's because he's so painfully gullible)._

_In high school, these four had tried drugs—_"didn't most kids?" _is what they'd say. As for their other friends, they couldn't be sure._

_Honestly, they expected to be badgered at after this—by Joly on the health issues, by Bossuet on the prospect of getting caught, by Cosette on the dangers of drugs. But that never happened. They found out Enjolras told everyone to leave them be (_"they're adults, they can make their own decisions."_) _

_But when they later asked him if he wanted to join them, he seemed to turn his nose up at the idea, even if he tried to act nonchalant._

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**I can't be sure how often my updates will occur, but I'll try my hardest to write some more and get things updated as frequent and soon as I can.  
**


	23. Part Twenty-Three

**Again, I apologise for my updates being spaced further apart. Since, as of right now, I only have 29 chapters written, I don't want to hastily post things too close together. At least, not until I have more written. But as I said in the last chapter, I've been distracted by Phantom of the Opera, specifically Meg/Erik (why don't more people ship it, I don't understand). My new goal has to make that ship sail again, as my tumblr proves at the moment-I've dubbed myself the ship's captain and my goal is to get a fully functioning crew. So... hop aboard, because I'd love that.  
**

**Anyway, I'm just gonna top ranting about my other ship and let you get to the story.**

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Eighty-Five

Cosette was in Gillenormand's living room when she got a phone call. She was a little surprised and wanted to ignore it to finish her book, but it was a distraction, so she ended up throwing down her book and reaching for it. At reading the caller ID, her eyes widened and the slightest of grins pulled at the corner of her lip.

"Musichetta?" she answered in surprise. Her friend's melodic laugh that Cosette so greatly missed rang for a brief moment.

"Hi there," the other girl said.

"I haven't heard from you in months." Cosette sat up a little straighter in excitement, "How have things been?"

"Very good," Musichetta started, "being with my family has really helped me out—I never realized how much I missed them."

"That's great—good to hear." Cosette was smiling brightly, definitely smiling more than she had in a _long_ time.

"So, what about you and Éponine?" at that, the blond sighed.

"It's been difficult; for weeks she avoided me and I had to cope alone." Musichetta let out a caring 'aww,' "Things started to look up a little when I got Enjolras to—"

"_Wait_," Musichetta's voice immediately sounded thicker, "_Enjolras_?"

Cosette gasped slightly in realization, "Oh god, I forgot to tell you… Enjolras survived."

Musichetta was silent for a few long moments, "How is he?"

"Terrible." Cosette said quickly, "Losing everyone has destroyed him. I know he wants to try to get out of it, but he doesn't seem to know how."

"Wow…" Musichetta was thoughtful.

"Both he and Éponine have been having a really hard time."

"But you've been trying to pick everyone back up, right?" Musichetta's smile was returning.

"As best I can."

There were a few moments of silent.

"So, I think I might go back to DC soon—we'll need to meet up."

"Actually, right now I'm staying with Marius' grandfather until after Christmas—you'll have to call Éponine." Cosette replied.

"Have you talked to her recently?"

"Not in the last couple weeks—I should though. I'd hate to learn she and Enjolras have gone back to avoiding everything."

Eighty-Six

It was about eight pm, and Éponine was at work. Thankfully, it was a weekday, so things weren't too busy, but she was one of two working tonight; it kept her just busy enough.

She was in the middle of clearing a table when Enjolras walked in. At first, Éponine didn't see him, and he stood by the door for a few moments, just thinking. He then walked toward her, coughing slightly to catch her attention. When Éponine turned, she gave him a small smile.

"Hey, Enj, what are you doing here?"

"Um…" he wasn't even sure how to go about this, "just saying hi."

"Well then, hi." Éponine began walking to the back with her tray full, "I'll be right back."

Enjolras went and sat at the bar, waiting with a bit of a jitter. The other employee asked if he wanted anything, but he merely shook his head. Éponine returned after a minute, standing behind the counter.

"So?" she asked, tapping her fingers lightly on the worn, wooden bar. Enjolras stared back, eyes briefly looking down at her pink lips.

"I, uh… can we talk about the other day?" Éponine quirked an eyebrow, her face becoming a little straighter—he finally decided to talk about it. She was wondering how long it would take.

"Okay." She leaned against the counter.

Enjolras took in a breath, "Well, what exactly was it?"

Éponine shrugged, "What do you think it was?"

"Just a kiss…?" He bit the inside of his cheek as a slight smirk pulled at Éponine's lips.

"I wouldn't exactly say that…" Éponine's co-worker called to her, "I need to take care of customers—just give me a minute."

Enjolras sat silently, twiddling is fingers as he waited for her to return, trying to figure out what to say and what to do. This felt… odd.

When she returned this time, Éponine took a seat next to him, an expectant look on her face.

"What would you have called it?" Enjolras asked.

"A fun time between friends." Éponine replied simply, "Why does it matter?"

Enjolras tried to figure out the right words—since his return, words have been so damn difficult. He didn't know how to speak anymore. "Should we do that?" he seemed so awkward and confused.

Éponine tilted her head to the side, "Does it matter?"

"To me, yeah." He sighed slightly, "I can't be sure what I was thinking before…" she stared at him simply, "We shouldn't…"

"Then we won't." Enjolras looked a little surprised at how easily Éponine discussed this. This was practically eating at him, yet she seemed so unfazed—it wasn't fair.

He stood after a few moments, looking around before his gaze fell on Éponine, "You should get back to work." His voice came out a little more harsh than he had intended, but with that Enjolras walked out of the bar.

Eighty-Seven

Éponine was sitting in her apartment watching television when there was a knock on the door. Without a thought for who it could be, she quickly walked to the door. When her gaze fell on Musichetta—quite a sight for sore eyes—a smile lit up her face.

"Hey, girl." The auburn-haired woman greeted. Before Éponine could speak, she was pulled into a warm hug, "Good to see you again."

Éponine's arms tightened around Musichetta, "You too." They pulled apart, but held each other at arm's length for a few moments, "This is unexpected."

"A surprise visit is much more fun than anything planned." Éponine let her friend inside and the two quickly found their way to the couch, "Have you been doing okay?"

"As okay as possible; it's been rough, yeah, but I try to manage." Éponine turned off the television, "What about you?"

"Probably better than you've been." Musichetta replied bluntly with a shrug, "You should've gone with me—the change in surroundings really helped me."

Éponine rolled her head, "Who knows if it would help me. You and I are quite different, after all."

"I'm still almost certain it would have helped. Now—" Musichetta seemed to go from one topic to the next so damn easily, "—I talked to Cosette a few days ago, just to check in and such, and…" she bit her lip for a moment, "she told me about Enjolras."

Éponine raised an eyebrow as her face became a little dourer.

"How did he live?" Éponine sighed while shaking her head.

"Sheer luck, I guess—he never said and I'm not sure if he even knows how to explain it."

"And how's he doing?" Musichetta's large eyes reflected deep concern. The large frown and crinkle of Éponine's eyebrow gave the other woman the exact answer she needed, "And you've been spending time with him, right?"

"Of course."

The pair was silent, but with Musichetta, that could only last for so long.

"We should go see him." Musichetta smiled reassuringly. The brunette gave her a hesitant look, "I think I need to see him."

"Fine, let's go."

Eighty-Eight

_Musichetta seemed so mature when she was first introduced to the others—she held herself so confidently and always had a vibrant smile gracing her red lips. She was beautiful in a way that may have intimidated some, but her outgoing personality just drew everyone in._

_When they met, Éponine was a college sophomore and Musichetta had already graduated. Unadmittedly, Éponine looked up to the auburn-haired woman—she came out of her shell because of Musichetta._

_Cosette was immediately drawn to her. The two beauties hit it off instantly—it, initially, made Éponine fear that she'd lose her best friend. But people like Cosette and Musichetta cared so deeply for others that they were always by Éponine's side._

_The men they called friends were always so pleased to have these three women in their lives; they were three _very_ different personalities, but they were so strong together. Everyone came to enjoy Musichetta and felt as if they'd known her their whole lives._

_It was Joly that met her first. He was swamped by medical training and decided to get some relaxation time. Originally, he didn't plan to do much—he'd go out to get a drink or two, then go back to his apartment to rest. But when he stopped into his favourite bar, his eyes found Musichetta sitting with a man, and he could feel something swell within in. She was the most stunning woman he'd ever seen. He didn't expect to get her attention in anyway. So, he sat at the bar by himself, stealing long glances at her every minute or so._

_And suddenly, after fifteen minutes, she was sitting next to him and he was almost certain she could hear his heart pounding. They were silent for a minute; Joly felt stiff and uncertain._

_"You're not the only one that stared, you know." She finally said, a powerful yet softly seductive voice enchanting his ears. With a confused look, he turned to face Musichetta, who gave him a large smile, "I haven't been able to stop stealing a look at you." _

_Joly's eyes widened. Him? He wasn't anything beautiful, anything special, anything like her. But this _goddess_ was watching him? He opened his mouth, but didn't know what to say, which made Musichetta lightly giggle._

_"I'm sorry to have left you speechless."_

_"I, well…" Joly cleared his throat, "I didn't expect any of this."_

_"I didn't think you'd approach me, so I took the initiative." She ran a hand through her long hair, "I'm Musichetta."_

_"Jol—Thomas." He offered her his hand._

_After that, the two spent a month or so meeting each other for drinks or dinner. They never said they were dating—though the attraction between them was painfully obvious._

_When Musichetta said she was done just hearing stories about his friends, Joly decided he'd take her to meet everyone._

_When she met Bossuet, Musichetta could feel a conflict begging to rise. She knew how deeply she was attracted to Joly, but suddenly she was presented with this clumsy man who gave her the same feeling inside as Joly did._

_Of course, she and Joly weren't technically a couple…_

_Musichetta told Joly about it. He seemed hurt, but she reassured him of her feelings and their chemistry. She didn't want a conflict, but how could she deal with this? Deal with feeling so strongly towards two different men?_

_"We're not officially dating…" Joly started slowly, "And you won't be officially dating him…" _

_Musichetta could see him coming to a conclusion. So, they settled on that. The three of them weren't dating anyone. It was basically an open relationship. And it turned out to work so well. Their friends never questioned it, the three of them were happy, and Joly and Bossuet had suddenly become the best of friends. Everything was going just right._

* * *

**So, do you guys like having Musichetta back? I seriously ship Joly/Musichetta/Bossuet, so its fun to have her back and give us a glimpse at one of my other (one of my _many_) Les Mis ships.  
**

**Hope you all enjoyed!**


	24. Part Twenty-Four

**Oh god, I'm soooo sorry for leaving you guys waiting so long. I have a long enough list of reasons, but it would be silly to say that I had any excuse just to neglect this story. So, again, I apologise dearly for that.**

* * *

Eighty-Nine

Enjolras wasn't at all surprised when Musichetta held him in a tight, choking, minute-long hug. In fact, he was a little frustrated. He thought she wouldn't be back in DC. So, when she was at his door, he didn't hold back on his irritated sigh. And while they hugged, Éponine stood there, giving Enjolras a stern glance but never keeping her gaze on him for too long.

When Musichetta finally pulled away, she gave him her notorious, dazzling smile, hoping to bring up his mood, "I've missed you."

He stared down at her with a raised eyebrow and a straight, brooding face. Her green eyes looked into his considerately—Enjolras felt as if she was looking right through him.

"Let's go out." She finally said, taking a hold of his arm.

Enjolras glared, "No." Musichetta let out a sigh.

"Then let's do _something_."

Éponine then spoke up, "He really doesn't enjoy going out." Musichetta gave her a lop-sided frown before looking back up at Enjolras, eyes looking at him carefully once more.

"How 'bout just to the pizza place down the street?" Enjolras stared back, considering the idea, "You don't need to stay long."

Finally, he sighed and rolled his eyes, silently allowing himself to be led out.

Ninety

Musichetta and Éponine couldn't stop talking. It was giving Enjolras a headache. Éponine couldn't help it—Musichetta was so talkative, positive, and bright. She forced herself out of sadness. She was the same Musichetta she had been all those months ago. And because of this positivity, Éponine felt content and lithe.

Even if he could feel his head pounding, Enjolras couldn't stop staring at Éponine. She wasn't the woman he's come to know, but the girl he met those five years ago. And it made his face soften against his will, made his eyes watch in wonder. This supposedly forgotten happiness was reaching to him, begging him to join the women in their smiles and laughter. But he didn't know how. So, he sat and watched the brunette with warm eyes.

His looks didn't go unseen. Éponine had caught him staring, but thought nothing of it. Musichetta, however, knew is eyes almost never left Éponine the whole time they were here. She grew all too curious. Musichetta didn't think this was like the Enjolras she knew. Of course, the Enjolras she knew was one.

She decided she'd investigate later.

Ninety-One

Musichetta stayed with Éponine for a couple days. The first night she forgot her question, but sometime the next day it came to her.

"He sometimes just spaces out for periods of time." Éponine shrugged it off.

"No, no, no." Musichetta looked Éponine in the eye, "He was _looking_ at you, seeing you, not just staring without a thought."

Éponine raised a doubting eyebrow, "And how is that significant?" Éponine hid her nerves well—honestly, knowing that Enjolras was staring at her in the way Musichetta implied messed with her. She couldn't describe the twisting feeling inside her, "Maybe the fact that I was smiling shocked him out of coherent thought." She joked while trying to smile.

"That look was _something_." Musichetta put her hands on her hips. Éponine merely shrugged, because she didn't know what his look could have meant.

Ninety-Two

Musichetta decided to go visit Enjolras again. She invited Éponine, but the brunette said something about _"not wanting to overwhelm him."_ So, Musichetta went alone. Once more, Enjolras wasn't too excited about the visitor, but he let her in nonetheless. Musichetta was smiling again—he _really_ didn't like so much joy. How was she coping with this? What was her secret? Hell if he knew.

She just started talking. Musichetta knew he wasn't fond of it, but if she just went on, eventually she knew he could speak and starting opening up, even just a little. (Well, she was hoping it would work.) It took her a good few minutes, but eventually Enjolras interrupted her to complain about how damned talkative she was. She, from there, began to actually ask him questions—_"how have you been?"_, _"do you need anything"_ that sort of thing. And each of these questions would receive a disgruntled response. But it was working. Musichetta could see him becoming less distant.

She got into questions about Cosette and Éponine next. The two had priorly explained to her what had all happened in the last month, so now she wanted to hear it from Enjolras. His behaviour changed with these questions—Musichetta was no longer asking about his well-being (for that he was grateful), but about his relationships. It was obvious things were rocky with Cosette—the two butted heads much too easily. But Éponine? That was different. Éponine didn't force herself into his business, but she always seemed to know when she was needed. And from what Musichetta got, it seemed the two were fond of each other's company if they couldn't be alone. It was good. Prior to this, the two may have gotten along and spent a good amount of time together, but no one could say they were the greatest of friends—now, they seemed to finally be getting to know each other.

That's when Musichetta tried to question Enjolras further. Based on what was said in relation to Éponine, she guessed that, in a sense, they were becoming "best friends"—when all your other friends disappear, this is bound to happen, Musichetta concluded.

By the time she left, Enjolras was becoming grumpy again.

Musichetta still felt as of some knowledge was missing.

Time to talk with Éponine again.


	25. Part Twenty-Five

**Well guys, updates are still gonna be kinda slow. I haven't written much else of this story as of yet-I have 30 chapters, and as you can see we're getting pretty close to that. I've just been getting distracted but different things, but the only true excuse I can have is saying I haven't been able to find much inspiration recently.**

**Anyway, go on and read, my dears!**

* * *

Ninety-Three

"Look, I'm just saying we need to do something exciting." Éponine gave Musichetta a sceptical look, "Let's go somewhere, visit new places."

The brunette sighed, "Muse, do you really think that'll be best? I mean, it would be good, but I'd probably lose it and Enjolras… if we can get him to even go would be jumping a hurdle."

Musichetta leaned her elbows on the kitchen counter and raised her hands in front of her, "Just picture this—we're in a rural small town where all the people are pleasant and friendly. We spend Christmas celebrating with the people at some annual tree lighting event. There's hot chocolate and snow and all things relaxing. It's perfect." She smiled brightly at Éponine, who now had a slight grin tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"And where would we find this fantasy small town?" Musichetta merely shrugged, "Look, it's still probably too soon for him."

"_'Too soon,'_" Musichetta tittered, "it's been _four_ months—I've gotten this far and you're trying hard enough. I really don't see why it's too soon to force him to get over this."

Éponine stood completely still, shock causing her to gawk—she couldn't believe what her friend just said, "Don't you understand _at all_?" she raised her voice as she stared Musichetta down, "We may have lost friends, but they were his _family_. He lost his oldest and closest friend—his _brother_—he lost nine people he loved with all he had. And he had to _watch them die!_ He's suffering more than all of us combined!" Éponine felt appalled—Musichetta was always so thoughtful and caring, yet it seemed that Enjolras condition and emotional turmoil was something to be disregarded.

Musichetta stood to her full height, a glare forming on her sharp features, "You _know_ I understand his pain—what, do you think I see things happy and dandy all the damn time? I loved those men the same as you—I loved _two_ in a way no one had before. Cosette gave all her heart to one of them. You think we don't suffer? You're the outsider here."

"The outsider!?" Éponine stood a mere couple feet in front of Musichetta, "Maybe I wasn't romantically linked to someone, maybe these men weren't my brothers, but the friendship I had was one of the best things to even happen in my shit of a life!" The women were glaring into each other's eyes, "I've suffered my entire life—when I met those men, I thought my suffering was over."

"Oh, poor Éponine—'_my life is so hard.'_ Cut the damn crap!" Musichetta stepped back and threw her arms in the air, "All of us have suffered, don't think your hardships make you any better than the rest of us! All I've tried to do was help, and you and your _stupid boyfriend_ don't even want things to get better! You just want to fester in your depression."

Éponine overlooked the "boyfriend" statement, one, because it was obvious to Musichetta how close she and Enjolras had become and, two, because that was completely unimportant in regards to the situation.

"Just get out!" Éponine stomped to the front door and threw it open, "I don't' need this. Stay at a hotel, stay at a park, _I don't give a fuck_—just leave!"

With a look that could kill, Musichetta collected her belongings quickly and left, Éponine slamming the door behind her.

After a minute of standing and glaring at the door, Éponine could feel her breath becoming shaky, could feel her mouth numbing. With a final shudder, she suddenly fell to her knees and pounded her fist on the ground as she fought back tears. She gasped and choked as she scrunched her eyes closed.

No. This couldn't happen. Éponine didn't cry. She _never_ cried. And now, a single _fight_ is what gets her?

She couldn't stop it. Éponine allowed tears to fall freely from her eyes, still gasping as her body violently wracked.

She felt completely broken.

Ninety-Four

Éponine didn't know where Musichetta was. For nearly two days she hadn't heard from her friend. Not that she cared, anyway—when Éponine held a grudge, it wasn't like. And Musichetta could manage on her own just fine. After that night, she just went about her day as normal as she could. But since she broke down, since she cried herself to sleep, Éponine felt vulnerable. She felt open and exposed for all to see, as easy to read as a book. It frightened her. Leaving the apartment made Éponine anxious, made her continuously recall her painful past. She didn't know how to cope. Nothing helped—she couldn't forget and couldn't ignore. Éponine felt trapped as she kept reimagining her fight with Musichetta, each time making it a little worse than the last.

She hated this. In her own time, she had been recovering, slowly but surely rebuilding herself. But then Musichetta had to go and say those simple words—_"I don't see why it's too soon to force him to get over this"_—and Éponine was spiralling downward again.

She didn't want to be vulnerable, didn't want to be weak. But that's all she was now.

Ninety-Five

Bored.

_Bored?_

Was Enjolras feeling _bored_? This had to be a first in forever. He was never bored—he always felt preoccupied and consumed by pain. He didn't have time for boredom. Yet it suddenly came to him at full speed. And in these moments he felt… different. How so, he couldn't quite say. It was as if his sadness had diminished.

But why now? Why so suddenly and randomly? What does he do? How does he handle this?

Abruptly, his phone rang, as if trying to offer him an answer. In an unexpected rush, Enjolras picked up his phone and answered.

"Yeah?"

_"Anton, dear," _Enjolras froze. His _mother._ Her high, snooty voice. God, he should learn to check caller ID, _"how are you?"_

"Just fantastic…" he grumbled while glaring at the wall. This was really everything he didn't want to deal with right now.

_"I expected to hear from you once you got back."_ Her voice was chipper and irritating.

"Well, you expected too much." Enjolras' mother sighed histrionically.

_"Anton, don't be so bitter." _He rolled his eyes.

"What do you want?"

_"Well,"_ her voice seemed to perk in eagerness, _"I've been talking with your father and he's finally agreed to talk to you."_

"I don't want to talk to him." Enjolras said quickly, "I don't even want to be talking to you."

Again, she sighed, _"I'm trying to mend this relationship—you're our only baby—"_ (Enjolras nearly gagged) _"—I never wanted things to get so rocky."_

"You should have thought of that before you ridiculed all my choices." He spat out.

_"Look, I'll leave you with this—come visit us for the holidays."_

"I have plans." He said without a thought.

Enjolras was almost certain he heard his mother stifle a laugh, _"Plans? With who? I thought you lost all your friends."_

Enjolras choked for a moment at his mother's painful bluntness, "I have other friends, you know."

_"Fine—if you say you have plans, then I guess I'll leave you alone. Goodbye."_ She hung up quickly. Enjolras let out a groan—he _hated_ them. It didn't matter if his mother was _"trying to mend this relationship," _he hated his parents.


	26. Part Twenty-Six

**So, I've said before that I haven't been writing much for this story, and that is still the case. I just get so distracted by different fics, projects, and fandoms that I couldn't stay focused on this one forever. But I will try to write more, I'm determined to.**

* * *

Ninety-Six

It was three days before Christmas.

Enjolras didn't remember. He didn't even realize how close it was to the holiday until he noticed the fuss everyone was making while out. When he actually went out (after the day is mother called, he felt an urge to just go out and _do_), Enjolras felt over-crowded everywhere he went. People were even ruder than usual, carelessly hasty. When the crowds were too much for him, Enjolras rushed his way to the café.

From his favourite seat by the large window on the second floor, Enjolras could see everything—he could see both ways down the street, all the frantic shoppers. He finally felt relaxed, watching everything instead of being a part of it. In the mess of people he felt anxious and got a terrible headache. Sitting here by himself, he felt mildly sane. As usual, he immediately began to observe—when his eyes fell on each person he thought about what their stories could be, who they were, what made them that way. Enjolras always felt a satisfaction in trying to lean people just by perceiving them.

Eventually, his mind travelled to the thought of Christmas. He couldn't be sure why the hell it even mattered—yes, he enjoyed Christmas in the past, but can he really care about it now? Did he even want to do something on Christmas? He'd probably forget about it, so why bother trying to make plans, especially since he'd be alone.

There was Musichetta and Éponine… Knowing Musichetta, she'd try to make plans. He'd just let her do that, wait for her to drag he and Éponine to some God awful party or event. If she didn't do anything, than neither would he.

Ninety-Seven

Éponine felt empty on Christmas Eve. She didn't realize how desperately she wanted to celebrate until she spent all day watching holiday films, drinking coffee, and eating holiday cookies. She spent hours bundled up on the couch, distress in her face as she watched all her favourite movies about elves and reindeer. She could only recall all the great Christmases she had in the past—how she and her friends would drink, exchange gifts, act like a tight-knit family. The fond memories made her smile fondly.

And then Musichetta called. At first, Éponine didn't want to talk to her.

_'But it's Christmas.'_

"Ép… I sincerely want to apologise for that fight." Was the first thing the woman said, "Some of the things I said were harsh."

Éponine thought for a few long moments on how best to respond, "Sorry for freaking out…" she felt hesitant to answer—did she actually regret her outburst?

"I just wanted to smooth things out—it's Christmas, after all." Éponine smiled just a little; she could always rely on Musichetta to be the first one to fix anything. She couldn't quite bring herself to forgive Musichetta, though—the fight still loomed over her.

"Well…" what could she say? "… Would you like to come over?"

"Actually, I can't—I might or might not be in Massachusetts." Éponine was only surprised for a moment.

"Visiting Cosette?"

"She said she was beginning to get lonely."

"You two will return soon, right?" Éponine was really hoping to have Cosette back.

"Next week." There was a silence between the two, "Is Enjolras there?"

"Why would he be?"

"Well, it's Christmas, so…" Musichetta chuckled, "Go see him, lord knows he needs to see someone today."

"Can I talk to Cosette before I go?"

"Just give me a minute." Éponine waited as she listened to Musichetta calling Cosette's name and walking through the house. Soon, the phone was handed over to the blonde.

"Ép!" the excitement in Cosette's voice caused the other woman to smile, "Can it be true, you're actually calling me?" she laughed lightly.

"I'm sorry for not keeping in touch this last month." Éponine looked sheepish, regardless of the fact that her friend couldn't see her.

"Don't even worry about it." Cosette replied simply, "How have things been? IS Enjolras doing okay?"

"I don't see him regularly, so it's hard to say, but he seems to be taking things in stride."

"And what about you—Musichetta told me about the fight." Éponine shook her head.

"Was it you that convinced her to mend things?" she smiled a little.

"Only a little… But really, are things okay now?" Éponine always appreciated Cosette's concern, because the other woman was always so sincere in her worries.

"Fine, I promise, just a little depressed because I miss our Christmases." Éponine cast her eyes down for a few brief moments. Cosette felt the pain in her voice and wished she could do something.

"If I could hug you right now, I would." She said reassuringly, "What about Enjolras, hmm?"

"I was planning to visit him after this call."

"Oh, well in that case, don't let me keep you—we can always talk again tomorrow."

"Are you sure?" Éponine felt sudden hesitation—should she go see him?

"It's no problem, I'll call you. Love you and can't wait to be back."

"Can't wait to have you back." Éponine smiled fondly, "Don't forget tomorrow."

"I won't. Talk to you then."

When the two hung up, Éponine sat in silence for a few minutes, considering whether or not she should visit Enjolras. It wouldn't hurt anyone to do so and she was feeling lonely.

_'Just don't let anything weird happen and you'll be fine.'_

Ninety-Eight

When Éponine finally got over to Enjolras' apartment complex, he wasn't around. She was considering going back to her place, but she could just as easily pick the lock. She settled on letting herself in—_"old habits die hard"_ she reminded herself.

Something about the apartment seemed different. She couldn't put her finger on what it was, but Éponine could tell something had changed since the last time she was here.

She set her bag on the kitchen counter and slowly moved to sit on the couch, turning on a lamp on her way.

Éponine always liked Enjolras' apartment more than hers. Sure, it never looked terribly personal, but it always had a lustrous vintage feel to it. His furniture was a little dated, his mass amount of hard-covers were aged, and he had ancient carpets, but everything was so clean—the walls were all white and he had modern, sleek décor here and there to balance everything out. All in all, much nicer than Éponine's apartment.

It was in observing the apartment that Éponine realized what was different—all of John and Courfeyrac's photography was missing, Combeferre's guitar was gone, the trinkets and books gifted by their friends were missing. It pained Éponine to come to this realization. Enjolras rid himself of reminders of the past. But where were they? Surely he hadn't sold them—Enjolras wasn't heartless, after all. Still, though, their personal presence was now missing.

* * *

**I have a feeling I'll probably put the story on an official hiatus after I get chapter 28 posted. So, I'm gonna try to pop out these last few and give myself some time to work.**


	27. Part Twenty-Seven

**I'm pretty sure this is one of the shortest chapters, but it still has some good stuff in it. I'm happy to see that everyone is still supportive and that a couple of you are even willing to help me out. Once I can put a little more focus on this, there's a good chance I'll message some of you to help me out.**

* * *

Ninety-Nine

It was nearly an hour later when Enjolras returned. He was freezing and frustrated, but when he stomped into the apartment Éponine wasn't at all surprised. It was he who jumped at the unexpected sight of her sitting on his couch.

"Shit, Ép—do you really have to do that?" he grumbled while removing his beanie and shaking the snow from his sleeves.

Éponine merely gave him an awkward grin, "Well, you weren't here."

Enjolras looked around himself for a few moments, a confused look on his face, "Where's Musichetta?"

"Massachusetts." The woman replied simply, so he didn't ask further. Enjolras began walking over, "Oh, before you sit, could you grab my bag?" the man raised an eyebrow, "I brought cookies—some have extra chocolate chips." With a sigh, he turned back to the kitchen and grabbed Éponine's purse, dropping it next to her as he sat down, "So, where were you?"

Enjolras watched her for a few moments as she pulled out a large zip-lock full of cookies, "Just out… nowhere particular."

Éponine raised an eyebrow while handing him the bag, "You were out on Christmas Eve for no reason?" he nodded simply. Éponine let the topic slide as Enjolras slowly began to eat the cookies she gave him, "You wanna go out somewhere tomorrow?"

Enjolras shrugged without looking up, "Don't care." Éponine frowned a little.

"You don't want to do anything for Christmas?"

"I'll do whatever you want to do."

"If you don't want to do something then we won't—"

"No, Ép, I don't _mind_ doing something, I'll do whatever, I'm just saying I'll leave the planning to you." He went back to eating his cookies as Éponine stared.

"Hell, if I know what to do." The corner of Enjolras' mouth tugged upward in a smirk, "That's why I asked."

Enjolras leaned back to relax his head on the cushion, "We'll do whatever comes to mind in the moment." Éponine agreed with a nod before stealing a cookie from the bag."

"Anything in mind right now?"

"Eating." Enjolras responded without missing a beat. Éponine smiled before beginning to laugh, causing Enjolras to give her a confused (if not bewildered) look.

Éponine tried to consider what so suddenly changed his mood. Enjolras, in these past months, was always brooding and quiet, so what changed him suddenly? Why was he so calm and composed?

"That really wasn't so funny…" Enjolras said simply as Éponine stared at him with smiling eyes.

"It was funny enough." She leaned forward a little, "So, explain what's made you so calm."

"Noth—"

"No, there's something." Éponine looked into his eyes, "You're different."

Enjolras stared back silently, thoughtfully, considering what to tell the woman. Soon, he sighed while looking away, "I went back to Arlington."

Éponine sat up in surprise, "Arlington? All by yourself?" Enjolras nodded, "Why?"

Enjolras stared down at the floor as he ringed his hand some, "I… I needed to see them." Éponine bit the inside of her cheek as she kept her gaze on the man—he _needed_ to see them. It wasn't like last time. Last time, she _forced_ him there and he had a complete mental break down. This time, he was there because he _wanted_ to be there, and now he was better than she'd seen him in months. She wanted to ask him a list of questions, ask him about it, but she refrained from it—if Enjolras wanted her to know the details, he'd tell her.

Enjolras looked up at her, a simple expression on his features. They merely stared at each other in silence.

Finally, Eponine spoke, "It was good for you." Enjolras nodded in agreement, receiving a smile in return, "It's nice seeing you like this—you seem better-off."

"Well, that's reassuring." The two continued in conversation, eating their cookies as the day grew late.

One-Hundred

On Christmas day, Enjolras felt bored. He woke first (Éponine decided to stay the night) and tried to figure out something to do since Éponine seemed to express a desire to celebrate. But he couldn't think of anything particularly interesting. So, he simply waited for her to wake in hopes that she had something in mind.

When she did wake, Éponine was still in a particularly decent mood—she missed how she used to spend Christmas, but she loved it nonetheless. And after some consideration, she decided they'd go out for breakfast. Their café was closed, but she knew there were other good diners open on the holiday.

Neither Enjolras nor Éponine cared much about their current appearance, so they spent only a couple of minutes to get ready before the left the apartment.

The pair simply began walking around—they decided to go wherever perked their interest. Even on Christmas, the streets of DC were crowded, though, thankfully, not as busy as they usually were. The walk lasted for a few minutes before Éponine took in Enjolras' current state.

"You look like you're absolutely freezing." The man looked up from the ground and shrugged.

"I guess, yeah." He even sounded cold.

"Don't you own any winter attire?" Éponine raised an eyebrow with a small smirk.

"Somewhere in storage." She sighed as she reached over, sliding her gloved hand into the pocket of his hoodie to wrap around his own hand.

"Even gloves will do you some good."

"I'm fine, it's no big deal." Even when saying that, though, he arranged his hand to hold hers, causing Éponine to grin.

"We should stop by your storage unit to get you a better coat."

Enjolras shook his head, "They'll be closed."

"We'll go by sometime soon," Éponine rolled her eyes, "we can't have you become a complete icicle." Enjolras didn't reply because it didn't matter—yes, he was cold, but he would manage just fine (and he was feeling too lazy, to be honest).

After a minute of thought, Éponine looked up at him, "Where did all your things go?"

Enjolras gave her a confused look, "What 'things?'"

"The pictures, books, gifts—all the stuff from the guys." Enjolras stopped to stare at her for a few long moments. She raised an eyebrow, hoping for an answer.

"I moved it." They continued walking, and Éponine nudged him with her shoulder.

"Where?"

"Closets." Enjolras let out a sigh, "I just… couldn't look at all of it. Maybe in time, but it's not as if having everything out is helping me."

_'I think you've been doing fine.'_ Éponine decided it best not to push it further.

She was a little surprised, though—it was as if, during the last week when she isolated herself, Enjolras was recovering. But she was worried; had she been holding him back from recovery? Was he improving because he was alone? If she had just given him another few days, how much farther along would he have gotten?

Enjolras came to a halt, which caused Éponine to tug his hand a little before also stopping. He was looking at a simple diner before looking to her.

"Let's eat here."

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**One more chapter until the hiatus. I'll try to get it up soon. Before I can continue writing Shell Shock, I think I'll give some attention to a couple other stories I'm working on (one of which can be found on my page and featuring Gambit. Maybe some of you would like to check it out).**


	28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

**Well guys, this is it: the hiatus starts after this chapter. I'll do what I can to get to writing more of this story, I promise. This isn't exactly the most exciting chapter to be ending on, but there's not much else I can do. Hope you enjoy it anyway!**

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One-Hundred-and-One

Honestly, the two didn't plan to stay out all day—they thought they'd just go to brunch for a couple hours. But the pair enjoyed the day, so they went on another walk. They wanted to see what Christmas was like when spent in the city, when half of the places they knew were closed or empty. It was refreshing to be able to roam without feeling so damn cramped. And everyone else they encountered seemed to enjoy it, too. People weren't being careless and rude (for the most part); there was breathing room.

When they passed a small drug store, Éponine decided to drag Enjolras inside. He wasn't sure what they were doing, but he didn't object, simply allowed her to lead the way.

Éponine began trying to fit different pairs of gloves on his hands, and he quickly reassured her that he didn't need them. She simply scoffed, saying he better let her get them as a present or she wouldn't forgive him. Arguing was pointless, so, eventually, after finding a good pair of gloves, Éponine purchased them and had Enjolras put them on.

At one point, they got to a park and began to walk through it. The park was even less crowded than the streets themselves. They didn't converse much until Enjolras asked to take a seat. So, after clearing a bench of snow, they settled next to each other.

"Are you glad I got you those gloves now?" Éponine asked with a smirk. Enjolras had been shaking out said gloves to rid them of any snow.

"I guess I am." He looked up at her thoughtfully, "Of course, now I feel I have an obligation to get something for you."

Éponine waved her had dismissively, "If you'd like to, go ahead. If not, then don't. It doesn't matter much to me either way." Enjolras nodded simply as he slumped in his seat.

"This bench is still wet." He stated absentmindedly, causing Éponine to begin to laugh.

"Is that a problem for you?" Enjolras gave her a small grin as he shook his head.

"Naw. Might be later when we decide to get up." Éponine gave another slight laugh while reaching over and patting his leg.

"I think you'll be just fine."

"Now, you don't know that." Enjolras' grin grew some as he stared at his companion. She didn't seem to notice his gaze as she took some time to look around the park, observing any people in sight and taking in the surroundings.

"You know, as a kid I never really liked parks." She said simply, causing Enjolras to raise his eyebrow.

"Why's that?"

Éponine shrugged, "I never went to them—I didn't like how many people would be around or how the playground or the grass never looked like it did in the movies. In movies, they seemed so promising, but that's not what they're like. As a kid, my hopes would get up too easily, and each time they were crushed." She looked at Enjolras, who had taken a brief moment to look around, "And you?"

He quickly began to recall his childhood, "I didn't begin to enjoy them until I was nine." He bit the inside of his check, "When we were younger, Combeferre _loved_ the park. So, when we met, I'd go along with him." Éponine gave him a smile before also slouching to rest her head on his shoulder.

"Combeferre was good for you." Enjolras silently nodded as Éponine thought for a moment, "He always seemed to either subtly be pushing you out of your comfort zone or standing by your side as you jumped a hurdler. It was an… admirable relationship."

Enjolras moved his head to glance down at her, chin resting against her soft hair, "Admirable? I don't think I've ever heard it described that way." Éponine awkwardly shrugged her shoulder against his.

"I can't exactly think up a better word. And the closest I've ever had to that was the relationship with my siblings, but even then it's different."

The two fell into a companionable silence as they watched the park, simply letting their thoughts wander.

Enjolras could feel himself finally getting better (honestly, to him that made it sound as if he had a meek cold). He could feel the memories of his friends become fond again, no longer making him want to cry. He hadn't bought marijuana in some time, no longer feeling dependent on it—sure, he missed the soothing effects, but he didn't _need_ it anymore. Enjolras could begin to feel happiness again, feel at ease after all this time. It seemed that time does help heal the pain, at least to the point where he didn't feel crippled.

And he wondered—what about Éponine? This was different for her, she reacted to everything differently. Enjolras wanted to know how to ask. He didn't think approaching the topic would be difficult; it would simply be the topic itself that proved to be such.

Then, Enjolras thought he didn't need to ask. He could see in her the changes, see her reactions and behaviour. Learning her complete feelings on it would come in time.

To gain her attention, Enjolras moved in his seat, causing Éponine to lift her head from his shoulder. She glanced up at his face curiously as he cleared his throat.

"Do you want to head back?" he asked simply.

"Does 'head back' mean your place or mine?" her simple question sounded strangely intimate to Enjolras, and he wanted to just shake the feeling. They never really decided where they'd be—they always just ended up somewhere.

"Your choice." He shrugged a little.

Éponine thought only for a brief moment, "I like your place more." She quickly stood, reaching both her hands out to Enjolras to help lift him off the bench. His hands gripped hers and soon the two were on their way back.

One-Hundred-and-Two

Neither Enjolras nor Éponine were completely sure how it happened. One minute, Enjolas was in the kitchen, hoping to make something to eat. The next, he had Éponine's warm lips and body pressed against him. It didn't start out slow, it never did with these two—it was rapid and needy and full of want.

Enjolras had Éponine in his lap once more as their mouths heatedly moved together. Warm tongues fought, hands grabbed at hair and skin, bodies rubbed together messily. Just like it always was.

It was after a few minutes that Éponine completely detached their mouths only to press her lips to Enjolras' neck, collarbone, ear, any skin she could make contact with. She found that Enjolras seemed to enjoy it when she bit just behind his ear and made great use of that. And as her lips kissed and sucked at his skin, Enjolras' hand would coarsely move over her body, taking in each inch he could. As the two began to slow down, Enjolras' fingers smoothly glided over Éponine's exposed arms, causing her to shiver. It brought a grin to his face.

His hands then tangled in her hair and pulled her lips back to his for another heated kiss. Their kiss was still eager and full of want, but it was gentler than before, deeper.

When they finally pulled apart, faces flushed and breath thick, Éponine's eyes found Enjolras' quickly. They were full of want and fervour as he stared back, mouth slightly ajar as he panted heavily. Éponine relaxed her hands on his arms, lying her head in the crook where Enjolras' neck met his shoulder. Her warm breath tickled his skin, eliciting a shudder from the man as he closed his eyes for a few long moments.

"Well, look what we got ourselves into again." Éponine muttered, lips brushing over Enjolras' exposed neck. He chuckled airily and briefly as his hand came to rub small circles on Éponine's leg.

"We never exactly said it wouldn't happen again." He responded as his eyes flicked down to look at Éponine.

"You make a point." She was grinning some as she planted a small kiss against his Adam's apple. She then sat up completely to look at Enjolras' face. It was as if she was inspecting him, searching for something in his features, "Does it bother you?"

Enjolras raised an eyebrow, "Should it?"

"It seemed to before." Éponine said with an eye roll and a smile. The man simply shook his head, leaning forward to have their foreheads touching.

"I don't even care anymore—whatever happens, happens."

Éponine blinked her eyes shut, "That's more like it."


End file.
